First Contact
by Gabi2305
Summary: It was the scariest first contact they've ever experienced.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary:_ It was the scariest first contact they've ever experienced.

_Disclaimer:_ Unfortunately, none of Star Trek Enterprise is mine. I'm making no money with this story either.

A big thank you goes to SitaZ who helped me with my English and to Exploded Pen who did a great beta job.

This story will be updated about every three days.

* * *

**First Contact**

**1**

Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. He felt strange. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to move his limbs. There was no pain. His arms and legs seemed to be alright. He lifted his hand to rub over his face and frowned. His hand looked strange, and his face felt strange to his hand. Unfamiliar so to speak, but he couldn't exactly tell why he felt this way. Groaning, he shut his eyes and tried to remember. What the hell had happened? They had been on an away mission, simple as that. T'Pol had detected an anomaly in the orbit of a planet and after days of research she had to admit that she had never seen anything like it before. And it wasn't like the Captain to leave a mystery unsolved. Besides, the planet resembled Earth. The sight of oceans, deserts, and lots of forests had stirred something akin to homesickness in them. So the Captain had put a landing party together: T'Pol for the science department, Malcolm of course for Security and Trip to pilot the shuttle, since Travis wasn't feeling so well. As if Malcolm or the Captain himself couldn't handle this flying tin cup. Any other time, Trip would have been glad to join the landing party, but there was that little problem with the warp drive, and although he trusted Hess completely he'd hated to be pulled away from his work just to play driver for the Captain. Oh yes, and Porthos had been allowed to come with them. Archer had been sure his beagle would find some wonderful trees which were in urgent need of water. "Come on, Trip," Jon had told him. "The planet's northern continent is completely uninhabited. It's a pre-warp civilization and they don't seem to have explored that continent yet. I don't have a clue why no one has settled there, but they won't detect us and that's the important thing. We'll gather some readings from the anomaly and then go on a short trip down there. You like camping, don't you? It's the perfect opportunity for some R & R. And you'll be back tomorrow, I promise."

And here they were. Crashed on that same beautiful planet. Of course they hadn't been planning to fly into the anomaly; not even the Captain would be so reckless as to go straight into an area that provided weird readings. But when they had come near it they'd been all but sucked into it. Trip had fired the thrusters and had put every ounce of energy into the engines to prevent it from happening, but to no avail. He remembered the sizzling noise and an odd smell that resembled a mixture of ozone and vomit. He had managed just in time to set the controls to an automatic landing vector when a bright flash wiped out his consciousness.

Trip groaned once again. Why does it always have to be me, he thought. He felt sore, but was otherwise unharmed. He was lying on the floor so obviously he had been thrown out of the pilot's seat. What about the rest of the crew? He looked around. There was the Captain, huddled against Porthos, holding him in a secure grip. Porthos' eyes were wide open, filled with shock and terror and he was trying desperately to wiggle out of his master's arms.

"It's okay, Porthos," Trip said. "Don't worry, I'm goin' to help you in a minute." At least that was what he wanted to say. But he stopped dead after the first two words. That wasn't his voice. It sounded weird in his ears. Alarmed, he looked at the shuttle's front section, and jumped in shock He was dead. He had to be dead. But if he was dead why would his heart beat in his chest like an overloaded warp-drive, ready to explode? But he couldn't be alive, because what he was seeing couldn't be true, plain and simple. There, still strapped to the pilot's seat, he saw himself, Trip Tucker. And now the figure began to stir. Trip swallowed hard. This was spooky. Who or, more to the point, what was there in his body? It definitely wasn't him. He watched himself undo the straps and then he met his own eyes. Curious eyes in an otherwise expressionless face. "Lieutenant? What happened?"

Lieutenant? He had passed this step in the hierarchy long ago. And where was his accent? The words had come out just as T'Pol would have spoken them. Trip suppressed a giggle that came out of the blue. He didn't feel like giggling, not in the slightest. What was going on here?

T'Pol who was sitting behind the science station, groaned. Trip frowned. He had never had heard T'Pol groan. She opened her eyes, looked at the pilot's seat and exhaled. "Looks like we're okay." She stopped dead. "Bloody hell, what's happened to my voice? Why do I sound like a woman?"

Trip looked at T'Pol and realization dawned in him, as absurd as the thought might be. "Malcolm?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course, who else?" T'Pol turned around and looked at him. Her jaw dropped. A fleeting thought crossed Trip's mind that under normal circumstances it would be nice to watch T'Pol express such clear emotions. "It's me, Trip," he explained. He looked at T'Pol, or, as he assumed, at Malcolm in T'Pol's body. Which left only one possible conclusion. "I'm in your body, aren't I?"

T'Pol only looked at him, then began to examine her body, her eyes growing more horrified by the second. Trip winced in sympathy. He still felt overwhelmed by the fact that he now inhabited Malcolm's body, but how much more horrible Malcolm must feel to be in a female body and in T'Pol of all women? The brown eyes widened as their gaze wandered over the female body. Trip looked away. It was simply too much to think about the consequences of this weird incident right now. He turned his gaze to his own body. "T'Pol?"

"Yes, Commander. I assume I am in your body?"

Trip had never thought his face could remain so calm in a weird situation like this. "That's right. Be careful with it, okay? I plan to get it back as soon as possible."

"Do you know what happened, Commander?"

"We were sucked into the anomaly. Something seems to have happened to us in there."

"But there were no gases or minerals that can initiate a body switch."

"As far…," Malcolm began and then stopped at the sound of his voice. He took a deep breath and tried again. "As far as we know."

"This will have to be the subject of a very thorough investigation. I assume we have gathered enough data during our flight through the anomaly to do so."

Trip nodded. _Well said, Tucker. Never thought you were able to construct such elegant sentences._ He lay back and closed his eyes, still unable to get a mental hold on the events. He was in Malcolm's body, Malcolm was stuck in T'Pol and T'Pol inhabited his own body. Suddenly Trip sat up. "What about the Cap'n?"

He looked to where Archer and Porthos were lying. Porthos had stopped his futile attempts to get out of his master's tight grip and was lying there with his eyes closed. But Archer was looking at Trip, incomprehension in his eyes.

Trip crawled over to him. "Are you all right, Cap'n?" he asked. Gently he lifted his friends arm and freed Porthos. The beagle took some clumsy steps, stumbled over his feet and fell back to the ground. "Hey boy, you okay?" Trip asked. Porthos turned his head and looked at him. There was something in the dog's eyes Trip had never seen before and it made him feel uncomfortable. He turned to Archer who looked at him with bleary eyes. "Cap'n? You okay?" There was a bloody gash on Archer's forehead, but it didn't look very serious. Trip stood up and reached for the medkit, noticing in dismay that he had to stand on his toes to reach it. As he leaned over his friend to put a band-aid on the gash, Archer's head suddenly came up and Trip felt a wet tongue lick his cheek. Startled, he shrank back. "Jon," he exclaimed, "what the hell?" He looked over to Porthos who was trying and failing to get back to his feet, stumbling as if he had never learned how to use his legs. Trip's gaze went back to Archer who had actually stuck his tongue out and had begun to pant.

"No." Trip closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on himself. "Oh no, no, no, no, no. This can't be. It's not possible." He looked back to Malcolm and T'Pol. Again it startled him to see himself sitting there. He had never known that he was able to raise his eyebrows all the way to his hairline. It looked like T'Pol had already adapted to his body and was in perfect control of it. Somehow this fact didn't sit well with Trip. "Traitor," he mumbled to himself, inaudible to his friends, or so he thought.

"What did you say, Trip?" Malcolm asked. "Who's a traitor?"

Shit. It looked like Malcolm could make use of T'Pol's excellent hearing. _Great. By the way, is there anything special your body can do, Malcolm? You've got breasts and can hear the grass grow, and I'm stuck in a body too short to even reach the medkit._ Trip noticed that his thoughts were not quite appropriate to the situation and he really doubted that his friend enjoyed being in a woman's body. He pulled himself together, deciding to skip Malcolm's question.

He watched his body getting up. "As unbelievable as this may be, it appears as if we have not only swapped bodies but as if the Captain and his dog have done the same. Our task at hand is to adapt to the new situation and determine a logical course of action to return to our previous state."

"Well said, T'Pol," Malcolm said, giving the Vulcan's face a sour expression. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

"I propose you take care of the Captain and Commander Tucker assess the damage to the shuttle whilst I try to examine the reasons why we have swapped bodies."

Trip nodded. "Sounds like a plan. C'mon Malcolm, I'll help you get the Captain and Porthos outside."

Malcolm got up. "Does anyone know where we are?"

Trip shrugged. "I programmed a landing vector, but there was no time to adapt it to our new position when we entered the anomaly. I'm sure we're not where we're supposed to be. But at least we don't seem to have landed near a town or somethin' like that. So let's get outside and check the surroundings."

With Malcolm's help he tried to take the Captain's body outside.

"Come on, Porthos, move," Trip begged, but the Captain's limbs remained stiff.

"He's terrified," Malcolm said.

"Yeah," Trip agreed. "Not much of a surprise, is it? He doesn't know what happened and he can't cope with this big body."

"Do you think he knows that he's in the Captain's body now?"

"I have no idea." Trip sat down by the Captain's head, gently stroking his hair. "Ouch!" He pulled his hand back, his eyes widening. "He bit me!" Incredulous, Trip looked at his hand where the patterns of Archer's teeth were to be seen, nice and regular. "Hey Porthos, what was that all about? It's me, Trip."

"But he doesn't know that," Malcolm pondered. "He's seeing me and T'Pol. T'Pol doesn't like him very much and I can't say Porthos has ever loved me."

"Great," Trip muttered, squeezing his hand until a few drops of blood came out.

"Hey, will you please be careful with me?" Malcolm demanded.

"Tell that to Porthos." Trip tried to reach for Archer's shoulders again, but stopped when he heard a dangerous growl coming out of his friend's mouth. They were getting nowhere.

Suddenly Trip felt a paw on his shin. When he looked down, he saw Porthos sitting there. Correction, he saw Archer in Porthos' body sitting there. The sounds that were coming out of the dog's mouth sounded like Archer was trying to talk but couldn't. He only succeeded in pulling a grimace which made Trip laugh in spite of himself. He stopped when the beagle kicked his leg, full force. It didn't hurt, but Trip realized that it might be a good idea not to laugh at the Captain, no matter what body he was inhabiting. "I'm sorry, Jon," he said with genuine regret. "I didn't mean to laugh at you."

The dog beside him nodded and Trip saw understanding in the brown eyes. Understanding, but also a warning not to laugh at him again.

When he had Trip's attention, Archer looked at his body and then at T'Pol and back.

Trip frowned then nodded. "Yeah, you're right. T'Pol, could you please come over here?"

"I am afraid not," Trip's own voice answered. "I think I found something and it is logical not to interrupt my research just now."

Trip groaned. It was annoying to hear himself talk in such a clipped way. "But we need you here with Porthos. He doesn't trust us," Trip told her patiently.

"The Captain's beagle has never trusted me, so I am afraid I cannot help you."

His patience was waning quickly. "But I'm afraid that you're in my body now. And Porthos doesn't know that it's you. He's terrified and he trusts my face and voice. I'm only asking you to come over here and tell Porthos that it's going to be okay."

Trip watched as his body rose with graceful dignity and knelt down in front of the Captain's body. "What do you suggest I do?" T'Pol asked.

"Talk to him," Malcolm explained. "Tell him he will be alright. Touch him. Stroke him. It's necessary to calm him down."

When T'Pol started to stroke Archer's hair Trip regretted that he hadn't brought his camera. Not that he could ever show the resulting photos to anyone else, but it would be fun to have a look at them from time to time. Later, when this was over and when they would all be back in their own bodies and able to see their little adventure from a more relaxed point of view. A nasty little voice deep inside him objected that none of them knew how to switch back, but Trip instantly told himself that they would find a way to get back into their own bodies. If he allowed himself to think otherwise, he was likely to lose it there and then. With an effort, Trip silenced the fear that was rising from deep inside him. There was no way he was going to be stuck in Malcolm's body for the rest of his life. Absolutely no way.

Absentmindedly, he had begun to stroke Porthos' soft fur when he suddenly felt the dog kick out, hitting him with his hind leg. Trip looked down and saw a reproachful look in the brown eyes. "Sorry Jon," he chuckled. "Won't happen again." He withdrew his hand. Dog or not, stroking his Captain wasn't a wise decision if he wanted to keep his hands. He was already wearing the marks of one bite, he didn't need another. He could very well understand the mood his Captain was in right now. Trapped in a dog's body, unable to talk, unable even to voice his thoughts about the situation, he must be feeling ashamed, helpless and very angry. And Trip knew better than to stroke an angry dog no matter how understanding the mind inside it was.

He stood and went to Malcolm's side. "What a sight," T'Pol's voice told him haltingly. Malcolm clearly hadn't gotten used to the fact that he sounded like a woman and had to pull himself together every time he opened his mouth.

Trip nodded and tried not to smirk at the sight of Archer rubbing his head at T'Pol's hand. He noticed that Jon had turned away, unwilling to see what Porthos was doing in his body. Again, Trip felt sympathy for his Captain. Porthos didn't notice that it wasn't Trip who was talking to him. He tried to lick the familiar face and Trip was sure that he was trying to wiggle his buttocks. Yes, Malcolm had been right. What a sight. With this he had ammunition to tease Jon for the next hundred years. But right now was not the time.

Trip went to help T'Pol getting Porthos to his feet. To Archer's feet. The dog just let it happen but didn't do much to help them. When Trip saw the dismay on his own face he noticed that Porthos had wet himself. Of course, the dog wasn't able to use a toilet and a mishap like this was likely to occur more than once. Furtively, Trip looked around. Fortunately, Archer hadn't noticed. He was occupied trying to stand on his hind legs and Trip quickly averted his gaze so as not to embarrass his Captain even more by watching his futile tries.

Trip stumbled when they reached the hatch. He still had to adapt to Malcolm's shorter built. He'd never thought that being only a few centimeters shorter would make such a difference in the coordination of his movements. What a mess. Luckily, Travis didn't even know what he had been spared. _Trip was sure that the pilot was relaxing in bed right now and recovering from whatever he'd come down with. _And who was the poor guy who had to face the music instead of watching the new movie tonight like he had planned? Trip sighed as he lifted Archer's legs through the hatch. Sometimes he doubted that joining Starfleet had been a good choice.

They sat Porthos down against the shuttlepod. The dog still seemed afraid to move. Trip smiled sympathetically. It had to be difficult to move such big limbs when you were used to a small body. He turned around and looked inside the pod where Archer just had fallen unceremoniously on his stomach, legs sprawled. Coordinating four legs when you were only used to two had to be difficult as well.

"Can I help you, Cap'n?" he asked, slightly anxious about the reaction.

Archer shook his head and growled when Trip came near him.

"Aw, Jon, y'know a good Cap'n doesn't bite his subordinates." The growl intensified. Trip licked his lips. "And remember it would be Malcolm who would end up with the scars."

Sobering up, Trip crouched down beside the small creature. "Jon, listen, this is kind of a weird situation to say the least, but we've gotta try to find out what happened. It's gotta be even more difficult for you and Porthos than for the rest of us. But there's no reason to feel ashamed, y'know. We're gonna be back in our own bodies in no time. We're gonna have a glass of bourbon in your quarters on Enterprise and laugh about all of this, you'll see."

The expression on the dog's face was very doubtful. Trip sighed. "I know, Jon, we still don't have a clue what's happened. But I trust T'Pol to find out and to find a way to reverse the effect. I'm not gonna believe otherwise. But as long as we are stuck in other bodies we have to make the best of things. And for you this means you've gotta try to walk on four legs. A dog's anatomy isn't made for standin' upright."

Archer nodded and carefully got up. He stood a bit wobbly but Trip refrained from helping him, and only watched him compassionately. As he reached the hatch, however Archer stopped in his tracks. Trip realized that he was afraid to jump. The engineer bit his lip. If the few centimeters he had on Malcolm made such a big difference in his coordination, how much worse did it have to be for Archer who was suddenly about one and a half meters shorter than before and dependant on four legs he wasn't used to. Being trapped in a dog's body, what a terrible idea.

Trip sighed and climbed out the hatch. Taking a quick glance around, he saw that T'Pol was still busy with Porthos and that Malcolm was checking the surroundings. "Don't bite me, Jon," he said quietly, then grabbed the dog, quickly lifted him up and sat him down again in the grass. Jon looked up at him and there was gratefulness in his eyes, but also deep embarrassment. Trip smiled at him, hoping that even without words, the Captain would know that there was no reason to feel ashamed. What a mess. Trip only hoped that T'Pol would come up with some results, and soon.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

It was warm and sunny outside. Everything was like they'd imagined it back on the ship. A nice day out on a beautiful planet. Only the fact that none of them were in their own bodies right now cut the fun considerably.

"Can I talk to you?" Malcolm asked Trip. "In private?"

Trip nodded. "Course."

They walked a few meters towards a bunch of trees. "Do you think it's time to panic?" Malcolm asked.

Trip looked at him, at T'Pol's face that was full of emotion. Over the years he had come to learn how to read Malcolm's expressions but he couldn't interpret them right now. He wasn't used to seeing T'Pol's face other than perfectly emotionless.

"Nope," he said determinedly. "We're not gonna panic." He knew if he started to think about being stuck forever in a body that didn't belong to him, he'd go crazy within an instant. So he quickly silenced the nasty little voice that tried to pop up in the back of his head every now and then. "You heard T'Pol, she's already found somethin'. I'm sure the effect can be reversed."

Malcolm nodded. "I hope so and soon. You know how weird this is? Looking at myself and knowing that I'm actually talking to you."

"You're telling me, Malcolm. I have to remind myself every second that it's not T'Pol I'm talking to right now."

"And I can't believe it's actually me who's talking in this female voice." Malcolm looked over at the Captain who was sitting there in Porthos' body and obviously didn't know what to do. "But that's nothing compared to what's happened to the Captain."

"Yeah, he got the shitty end of the stick. Can you imagine bein' in the body of an animal?"

"I'm not sure I want to," Malcolm admitted. "Do you think he's able to speak?"

"I don't think an animal's vocal chords are made for speakin'. Unless it's a parrot."

Malcolm grinned. "Sorry, I just imagined the Captain with the voice of a parrot."

"Better not think about it."

"What do you think, is there a way we can get out of here?"

Trip shrugged. "The shuttlepod seems to be okay."

Malcolm shook his head. "Some of the circuits were fried, I could see as much."

"Shouldn't be a problem. I hope we'll be able to find the anomaly again and switch back somehow."

Malcolm grimaced. "I wish it would be so easy. Do you really think T'Pol can find a solution?"

"Who else, if not T'Pol?"

"You have a point there. Look, there she is."

They watched T'Pol come out of the shuttle, but she didn't head in their direction, walking towards a spot behind the trees. "What is she doing now?" Malcolm wondered.

"What'd'you think?" Trip grinned. "I'm sure a Vulcan body can hold its pee for ages but a human body can't. And particularly not mine."

Malcolm bit his lip. "You think she knows how to do it?"

Trip's amusement was gone. "Let's hope so."

"What should we do with the Captain? I mean with Porthos? Should we remove his trousers?"

"You can't just do that."

"But he's going to wet himself over and over."

"Can't help it. Even if there's a dog in the Cap'n's body right now, you can't let him sit here naked."

Trip looked up and saw T'Pol heading towards them. He still found it disturbing that his body could move without him being involved. "What can we do for you, Subcommander?"

"I require your assistance, Commander."

"Assistance?"

"Yes, I do not know how to handle this…" It had to be the very first time in her life that T'Pol had run out of words, Trip thought. At the same time he could feel the ears of Malcolm's body turning beet red. How the hell was he supposed to teach T'Pol how to pee like a male? It wasn't as if he was feeling comfortable talking about things like that.

"It's not that difficult, Subcommander," Malcolm helped him out. "Just open your trousers, take out what you find, aim, and go for it."

Trip only groaned.

T'Pol nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for this colorful instruction. I'll try to proceed like you suggested. By the way, Commander, did you know that you grow hair on your testicles?"

"What?" Incredulous, his jaw slacking, Trip stared at his own face that remained perfectly calm.

"She said that you have hair…," Malcolm supplied.

"I know what she said," Trip cut him off. Malcolm looked away, trying to hide his amusement, and suddenly Trip noticed "Porthos" who had appeared out of nowhere, a canine grin on his face.

It was unfair, Trip thought, that even though the Captain was in Porthos' body, he could understand every word they were saying. _And by the way, dogs don't grin, Jon, it just doesn't look right._ Trip closed his eyes for a moment, well aware that this gave Jon ammunition of his own to tease him.

"Thank you for the information, T'Pol." Trip took her arm and led her away, deciding that it was less embarrassing to show her how to pee than to stay in the company of a smirking Vulcan and a grinning dog. At least this way he could make sure that she didn't do anything wrong with the zip.

---------------------------------

Trip was lying under the helm console, trying to repair the fried conduits. Although it was taking its time, the task was easy. Too easy for Trip's taste because it gave him time to think. He watched Malcolm's fingers working on the circuits and thought about the chances that the effects of their body switch were irreversible, that there was a real possibility that he was stuck in this body forever. Trip closed his eyes for a moment, trying to fend off the desperate feeling that had been hiding deep inside him and was now erupting full force. "Ouch!" It was better to work with his eyes open, he decided, after he had touched a conduit that still carried some power.

"When will communications be online again, Commander?" he heard his own voice say. He glanced over at the science station where T'Pol was sitting. It still felt weird to talk to his own body. "Gimme a few minutes, Subcommander. I'm almost done here."

"I need to confer with my department, Commander, I need their readings."

"I know that, T'Pol."

Trip worked silently for another ten minutes, contemplating the fact that he was still lucky. At least he still inhabited a male body. Malcolm and T'Pol had to deal with a body of the opposite sex and Jon and Porthos… Trip sighed. He hoped with all his heart that T'Pol would find a solution.

"I think I did it, Subcommander." Trip emerged from under the console and tapped into the com system. "Shuttlepod One to Enterprise. Enterprise, do you read me?"

"We read you, Shuttlepod One," he heard Hoshi's voice after some static crackling. "Is that you, Malcolm?"

Trip was about to say no when he reconsidered. "Yes, Hoshi, it's me. We crashed on the planet, but we're all right. Or let's say, we're unharmed."

"That's good to hear. We were worried about you when we couldn't reach you." Trip could almost see Hoshi frown and knew what was coming. "I know it's you, Malcolm, but you're talking like Commander Tucker."

Trip sighed. "We'll explain later, Hoshi. Can you tell me how long we'll have daylight here?"

"Approximately for another five or six hours."

"That's good, thanks Hoshi. T'Pol has to talk to the science department. Can you put us through?"

"Of course. Just a moment."

Trip looked over at T'Pol. "I guess it would be best if you told them you were me," he suggested. "Just to avoid confusion."

T'Pol nodded as the com crackled.

"This is Hanford. What can I do for you?"

Trip smiled. Lieutenant Reena Hanford. The young woman with the silky brown hair and the sparkling eyes. A few weeks ago, he had asked her to accompany him to movie night, but she had declined. Politely, but determinedly. "Sorry, Commander, but I don't think we have much in common."

Trip could hear that she felt uncomfortable talking with him about science. "Could I talk to Subcommander T'Pol, Commander? I think it would be best to compare our results with hers."

"Subcommander T'Pol is not available at the moment. I am afraid you will have to be content with me."

Trip smirked. And T'Pol always told them that Vulcans didn't lie. Poor Reena, she probably thought that an engineer couldn't be well versed in natural sciences. And he could hear her surprise at the fact that Commander Tucker knew precisely what she was talking about.

T'Pol cut the connection and looked over at Trip. "It seems that there are unknown particles in the anomaly that have possibly interfered with the output of our impulse drive. I will have to do more research about it, but it is possible."

"You say it's possible to swap back just by flying through the anomaly again?"

"I do not think it is as simple as that but with a few modifications it might work. It is our best chance."

"Great," Trip muttered. He had expected something more scientific from T'Pol. But he was glad that there was at least a small chance to get their own bodies back.

"I'll be finished in an hour or so," he told her. "But I'll have to remove the bulkhead over there to get access to the EPS-grid." Trip stood up, stretched his body and rubbed over his face. He was sweating. Sighing, he pulled his arms out of the uniform and knotted the sleeves around his hips. Much better.

"I suggest that you take a short rest," T'Pol suggested. "Perhaps you should eat. You have been going without nutrition for the last five hours."

Trip agreed. He felt Malcolm's stomach rumble and he was sure that his friends were hungry, too. While T'Pol climbed outside to report to Archer he checked the ration packs. There was a Vulcan vegetable dish that didn't look very appetizing and Trip only hoped that his stomach could deal with it. There was also meatloaf, pasta and a Chinese dish. Okay, pasta for Malcolm, meatloaf for himself and the Chinese-. Trip grimaced. He had no idea how Jon would eat but he was sure that Chinese food wasn't good for an American dog's stomach. And what about Porthos? Of course Jon would have brought food for Porthos as well. Eventually, Trip found a box with dog biscuits. They would have to do. He heated up the food and with Malcolm's help he took the dishes outside.

"Do you want Vulcan vegetables or pasta, Malcolm?"

"I'll have the pasta. I hope T'Pol's stomach can cope with it, but I'm not very fond of Vulcan dishes."

Trip smiled understandingly and took the meatloaf and the dog biscuits over to Archer and Porthos. "I have some meatloaf for you, Cap'n," he announced. "Or would you prefer dog biscuits?"

Archer shook his head and Trip suppressed a smile. It was strange to talk to a dog and get an answer from him. "What are we goin' to do with Porthos, Cap'n? You think he'll eat the biscuits?"

Malcolm came closer. "He's still scared. I tried to persuade him to stand up earlier. He tried to walk on hands and feet, but he kept falling onto his side. He hasn't moved since. But at least he's stopped growling at me."

"Poor boy." Trip felt genuine sympathy for the dog that had been thrown into a human body. "At least we understand what's happened to us." He crouched down and offered Porthos a biscuit. "Look what I've got for you, Porthos. You love those biscuits, don't ya?"

When he got no reaction, Trip tried to push the biscuit between the Captain's lips.

"Perhaps you should try the meatloaf," Malcolm suggested.

Trip shook his head. "I don't think Porthos' taste has changed." He gave Malcolm the box with the biscuits. "Keep tryin'. I'll take care of the Cap'n."

Trip opened the meatloaf dish and put it down in front of Archer. The dog didn't move, he just looked at him. Trip sighed. "C'mon Cap'n, I know it's difficult for you, but you'll have to eat. I'd offer you a fork, but I don't think you could handle it. You'll have to make the best of things."

Trip looked to Malcolm who had succeeded in feeding Porthos some biscuits. He wasn't needed there so he returned to T'Pol. "How are the vegetables, T'Pol?"

"I have to admit the dish is a little bit tasteless."

Trip smiled. "I guess it's my fault. My taste buds are used to spicy food." He dug into the Chinese dish which tasted surprisingly alright.

"How is the Captain dealing with the situation?"

"It's humiliatin' for him to eat like an animal."

"It is not the Captain's fault that he has swapped bodies with his dog."

"You're right but it's still humiliatin'. And I don't know how we can give him and Porthos water." Trip set his empty plate aside. "I'm goin' to help Malcolm. Enjoy your food." He took a bottle of water and went over to his friends. "You thirsty, Cap'n?" He turned around. "Malcolm, can you please help me with the water?" He handed Malcolm the bottle and folded his hands. Malcolm understood and poured water into them, but Archer hesitated.

"C'mon Jon, before it starts seeping through my fingers. I'll just pretend it's Porthos drinkin' from my hands."

Hesitatingly, Archer slobbered the water out of Trip's cupped hands. "See?" Trip smiled. "It works. I hope Porthos is as cooperative as you are." He stood up and took the bottle from Malcolm's hands. "Go eat your pasta, Mal. I'm afraid it's cold by now."

"Doesn't matter I'll just heat it up again. Are you going to manage here?"

"Yeah." Trip crouched down beside Porthos. "Hey boy, I have some water for you. You've learned how to eat, haven't ya? It's goin' to be alright, y'know? T'Pol found a way to get us all back into our own bodies." Trip didn't know whether Porthos could understand him, but he knew that it was important to talk to the scared dog. And trying to reassure himself by doing so couldn't hurt either, could it? He held the bottle to Archer's lips and although the water ran out of the corners of his mouth, Porthos drank a fair amount of it.

"Yeah, that's right, boy. You're doin' well." Trip stroked over the brown hair, reminding himself that it was not his Captain sitting there. "You're a good boy, Porthos. Just hang on." Trip stood up. "Could you stay with him, Cap'n? I have to go back into the shuttlepod and finish my work." He smiled at both man and dog and went back.

"Malcolm, could you help me remove the bulkhead?" he asked when he passed his friend who was just finishing his pasta.

"Of course. How are you doing with the repairs?"

"I think I'll be done in an hour. Then we'll see if T'Pol's right."

"I hope she is," Malcolm mumbled and followed Trip into the shuttle.

"T'Pol?" Trip stopped when he saw himself standing in the rear of the shuttlepod, rummaging through the storage compartment. "Can I help you?"

"Thank you, Commander, I have already found what I was searching for." T'Pol nodded gracefully and passed them.

"Did you see what she had in her hands?" Trip asked curiously. "Or better said what she had in my hands?"

Malcolm smiled. "I thought it was the razor kit."

"Oh no, she's not goin' to shave my face." Trip blanched.

"Trip, what can go wrong with an electric razor? And women have experience in shaving as well."

Trip wasn't convinced. "I shaved this morning. There's barely any stubble."

"It must feel very odd for her to have a stubble on her face, even if there isn't much of it."

"You're right." Trip nodded. "I'll need your help removing this bulkhead, but take care of T'Pol's smooth hands."

Malcolm smiled, not rising to the bait. "These hands are a lot stronger than they look, Commander. Let's get started."

Malcolm stayed to help Trip repair the conduits in the EPS-grid. They looked up when T'Pol came back twenty minutes later. Trip took a close look at his face, relieved that he couldn't see any cuts. But the dark shade on his chin was still there. He frowned. "D'you need help shavin', T'Pol?"

"I don't require your assistance, Commander. I was successful in removing all the hair from your testicles."

There was a hard clank as the soldering iron Trip had in his hand fell to the floor. "You did what?" he cried out loud.

Malcolm was biting his lip, hard. "She shaved your bollocks."

"You didn't!" Trip felt his cheeks get hot. "You can't just shave my balls."

"The hair was causing an extremely unpleasant itch."

"Then scratch!"

"I don't scratch, Commander, and certainly not in a place like this. You should thank me."

"Thank you? For what? You disfigured me."

"I relieved your body of some very annoying hair. I cannot see how this disfigures you."

His eyes still wide with shock, Trip plopped to the ground. T'Pol lifted her eyebrows to her hairline and left without any other word.

Malcolm looked at Trip, definitely having a hard time suppressing a laugh. "They'll grow back, you know."

Trip grimaced. "How could she? It's my body, she had no right to do that."

"Don't you think you're overreacting a bit, Trip? Look, it's only a bit of hair. She didn't cut your balls off."

"You don't know what she's gonna do when she finds anythin' else annoyin'," Trip predicted in a somber tone.

"Come on Trip, you'll live. But I have to say I find it very unsettling."

"What? That I grow hair on my balls or that T'Pol shaved it off?"

"No, that my face is even able to look as stupid as you just did."

Trip threw his friend an annoyed glance, but didn't respond to the teasing. He only sat there and rubbed his arms, then he unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and started scratching.

"What is it, Trip? Some itching hair?"

"Very funny, Lieutenant." Trip wasn't in the mood for friendly banter. "I'm itchin' like mad. Maybe there was somethin' in that Chinese food."

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. "You had Chinese?"

"Yeah, I gave the meatloaf to the Cap'n."

"That's bloody lovely, Trip. There are spices in most Chinese dishes that I'm highly allergic to."

Trip blanched. "You're kiddin' me."

"I'm afraid not. Wait, I'll check the medkit. Maybe I'll find something to ease the itch. Stop scratching. You'll only make it worse."

Easier said than done, Lieutenant, Trip thought. His arms itched as if he were lying in a field of stinging nettles. And now his face was starting to itch as well. Malcolm caught his hands just before he started to draw his fingernails over his cheeks. "Don't."

"It's itchin' like hell, Malcolm."

"I know. But this will help." Malcolm pressed a hypospray against Trip's neck and released its contents into Trip's bloodstream. "Remove your shirt."

Malcolm pulled out a salve and started to apply a thick layer of it to Trip's face and arms.

"Anywhere else?"

"My chest."

When Malcolm was done the tube was empty but the salve and the hypo had eased the itch considerably. Malcolm suppressed a smile as he stood up again.

"What?"

"Sorry."

"About what?" Trip laid his hand on his cheek and could feel the pasty layer of salve there. He sighed deeply. "I think I shouldn't look into a mirror right now."

"You look like your own ghost."

"Like _your_ ghost do you mean?"

Malcolm stowed away the medkit then crouched back down beside Trip. "I'm sorry, Trip. I should have warned you but I never noticed that you'd picked the Chinese dish."

"Not your fault." Trip closed his eyes, trying to ignore the itch that was still latently there. And there he had thought that he had been fortunate. This was frustrating. He glanced at Malcolm who looked at him with sympathy but couldn't suppress an amused smile. Trip knew that he had overreacted with T'Pol and had to look funny right now but to see amusement on the usually stern Vulcan face was just too much at the moment.

"Ya know, Malcolm, you should ask T'Pol if it's gonna be that time of the month any time soon."

The amusement was gone in an instant and Trip found that chalk white suited T'Pol's face perfectly.

* * *

**TBC**

Please leave a review and tell me what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Two hours earlier:

Jonathan Archer was lying in the sun, pondering recent events. When he had regained consciousness after the crash his first thought had been that some sort of giant had captured him and was trying to squeeze the life out of him. He felt awkward, as if his legs and arms were much too short and his brain fuzzy. And suddenly he had heard someone speak. He had stopped struggling to look around. There was Malcolm on the floor. But he looked … big. Jon had blinked. He was still in the shuttlepod. In a really large shuttlepod. What had happened? Had someone shrunk him or enlarged his surroundings? He had tried to look at the thing that was holding him in place. It was a hand. A big hand. Attached to a big arm that was clad in a Starfleet uniform. And there, just beneath him were Porthos' legs. Jon's heart had started pounding even more. What the hell had happened to them?

Next he had heard talking. Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol. So they were alright. He had tried to say something as well but not a sound had come out of his mouth. It had felt as if his vocal chords weren't used to talking, he couldn't even clear his throat. Jon had concentrated on his officers' conversation. He'd briefly wondered why Malcolm talked in a southern drawl and T'Pol used words like "hell". And then they had talked about switching bodies. It couldn't be, could it? Was it possible that they had all swapped bodies? And what would that mean for him? Jon had closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, not wanting to finish the thought that was formulating in his brain. He had been holding Porthos in a vice grip to protect him when he had realized that they would make a crash landing. The same grip he was now captured in. Jon had looked at Porthos' legs that were right in front of his eyes. It were his. His legs. He was Porthos. He was in a canine body.

Remembering this moment, Jon shuddered. He was still trying to fathom how such a thing could happen at all, but he found it difficult to think straight. He was the Captain, he had to find a solution or at least contribute to solving the problem, but eventually he had had to accept that a dog's synapses weren't made for complex thinking. It was a feeling as if he couldn't get his brain in gear. He tried to break down the warp reactor into its various parts in his mind, something Trip could do even when he was sick, but he couldn't remember the names of most of the components. _And he was fairly sure that if someone asked him to play "Geography" right now, he wouldn't be able to come up with a single answer._He couldn't remember anything that involved concentrated thinking. But not only was he in the possession of a dog's limited brain, he also had a dog's sensitive ears and a dog's fine nose. He could hear every rustling in the forest, every step his friends took, and their voices sounded painfully loud in his ears. And there were the smells. Jon found the smells that surrounded him very disturbing. And for the very first time in his life he experienced the stench of fear. He could smell Trip's and Malcolm's panic that was lying just beneath the surface, although both men did their best not to let it show, and he could sense T'Pol's fear which she concealed with scientific curiosity but which was there nevertheless. She was feeling very insecure about being in a different body, especially in a man's body and in Trip's body, to boot.

Jon stretched his limbs. At least he knew what had happened and could try to make best of things. Porthos beside him seemed too afraid to even move. Jon had tried to get near him to soothe him with his presence if nothing else, but Porthos had all but growled at him. Could a dog recognize his own body when he saw it? Did Porthos know that this was his master sitting beside him, or did he think it was just another dog, maybe even a rival? Jon decided that it was better to keep a certain distance. He wasn't in the mood to feel his own teeth in his flesh.

Jon shook his head, trying to get rid of the itching feeling around his neck. Why on Earth had he followed T'Pol's advice to put a dog collar on Porthos' neck? "We are landing in an uninhabited area, Captain, but you do not know what sorts of animals we will encounter there and you wouldn't want your dog to escape in a dangerous situation." Yeah, T'Pol you are so right, but now he was sitting here with an itching collar and not even Trip had remembered to remove it. For a moment he pictured Trip getting out the leash and going walkies with him. No thanks. He knew how to pee like a dog, he'd seen it often enough. That was not a problem. It was a lot harder for Porthos. Not knowing how to cope with a human body, let alone how to handle it, he had had no other option than to wet his trousers. Jon was full of sympathy for his little dog. On top of the frightening feeling of suddenly having a different body, it must be very odd for him to be wearing clothes. Jon smirked inwardly. Of course he had been aware of the wet uniform, back in the shuttle, and if he had been able to do so, he would have laughed out loud at Trip's anxious attempts to hide it from him. But he appreciated his friend's efforts to spare him humiliating situations like that. Although nothing could be more humiliating than being stuck in a canine's body.

Jon pricked his ears in order to listen to what was going on inside the pod. His friends weren't aware that he could hear every spoken word even through the shuttlepod's bulkheads. Trip was working on the fried circuits, that much he could gather from the muffled swears. That was good. Jon was amused when he heard T'Pol ask Trip to hurry. Perhaps the human body she was in affected her usually calm behavior. Jon was relieved to hear that she seemed to be getting some results. Or why else would she want to get in contact with the ship to compare whatever she had found with their scans? It was a good idea to contact the ship to let them know they were okay. All the same, Jon hoped that no one would tell the crew the truth about what had happened. He had no intention of letting the crew know that their Captain was inhabiting the body of his own dog. There was no way they would go back to Enterprise with the problem at hand unsolved. He wouldn't let the crew see him like this. Jon doubted even the doctor would be able to help them. The solution was here, between the planet and Enterprise, and Jon trusted T'Pol to find a way to get them all back into their own bodies.

Wearily, he laid his head on his paws. It was nice in the sun but he would have preferred to do something, to contribute to the problem's solution. He felt so useless. He was thirsty and hungry. Was it even okay to be hungry in such a precarious situation? And how could he get water and food? It wasn't that he could just take one of the ration packs, put it into the oven and eat it. Jon had no idea how he was supposed to eat like this. Or drink. He couldn't take a bottle between his paws and drink like a human, or could he? It was frustrating.

It was getting a bit too hot in the sun. Sitting out here with a fur coat wasn't the best of ideas, he decided. Carefully, he tried to stand up. He never would have thought how difficult it could be to coordinate four limbs while walking. He had managed before when he had joined Trip and Malcolm. He had heard them discussing the situation and had thought he should be there. And T'Pol's appearance and the funny face Trip made had absolutely been worth the effort. But he still wasn't used to walking on four legs. Right foreleg, left hind leg, left foreleg, right hind leg, right foreleg, ouch, that was the wrong one. _Stand up, Jon, try again._ Concentrating on every single step, Jon managed to walk into the shadow of the pod. It surely was hot. He could smell Trip sweating inside. Not a very pleasant odor. He wondered how Malcolm was coping with the fine nose he was equipped with now. He was sure his security officer had a hard time dealing with his own smell. No, that wasn't right, Jon corrected himself. Vulcans didn't sweat. At least not to the extent humans did. Lucky Malcolm. Or not? It must be annoying for Malcolm to smell the human bodies around him. Suddenly Jon could understand T'Pol so much better. Perhaps Malcolm could borrow some of her nasal numbing agent. Jon smirked. Malcolm would never do that. He'd rather bear the smell for ages than admit that it was annoying him.

And what about T'Pol? Raised on Vulcan, she wasn't used to be sweating. But being stuck in Trip's very human body, she couldn't do anything against it. And Trip was prone to heavy sweating. Although her usual sense of smell was somewhat crippled in a human body, Jon was sure she had to find Trip's eau de sweat very perturbing. He made a mental note to buy T'Pol a whole box of nasal numbing agent when he had the opportunity to do so. He would be glad to have some himself right now.

Jon sighed inwardly. Here he was, Captain of the famous starship Enterprise, lying lazily in the grass and thinking about sweat and sweating people. Not exactly what he should be doing in a situation like this. He seemed to have actually arrived at a dog's brain level, didn't he?

He heard T'Pol propose that they get some rest and have something to eat. _Good idea, T'Pol._ He only hoped that they wouldn't try to feed him the dog treats he had brought for Porthos. Canine body or no, his taste was still human.

---------------------------------

It was about an hour after their meal when Jon raised his head. He had had some very entertaining moments listening to the conversation inside the shuttlepod, but now he had heard something in the distance. It wasn't the sound of birds or the whistling of the wind, which he was hearing all the time. Something was rustling in the wood. An animal perhaps? What kind of animal? A dangerous one?

He focused his attention on the shuttlepod. His officers didn't seem to hear anything. Obviously Trip had calmed down again. Jon couldn't suppress an inward smile when he thought about T'Pol shaving Trip's privates. Talk about poetic justice. Trip was the only one who didn't have to adjust to a body of the opposite sex or even another species. But Jon felt guilty when he heard Trip scratch every now and then, always followed by Malcolm's "Don't scratch" and Trip's muttered responses which sounded like a curse more than once. It had been very thoughtful of Trip to give his beloved meatloaf away, but now he had to suffer the consequences.

Jon startled when he heard the noise again. Right, the sounds from the wood. He should try to concentrate at the task at hand. Now that Malcolm was helping Trip, it was his job to survey the surroundings. Jon got to his feet. Okay, let's play watchdog. Slowly, he approached the forest, ears still pricked. He sniffed the air. It was time to try out his new senses. There was a different scent in the air. A scent of.. sniff, .. a scent of … sniff … aliens! Grim looking aliens with long rifles in their hands.

Without a doubt as to their intentions, Jon turned around and ran. He tripped over his feet and tumbled down, yelping when he bumped his shoulder. The sound of his voice gave him an idea. _Time to try and bark, Jon._ And he did.

------------------------

Trip tried to concentrate, which was getting increasingly difficult by the moment. Malcolm was lying beside him in the small compartment and trying to help him, but T'Pol's breasts were rubbing against his hip and Trip felt himself beginning to sweat even harder. _It's not T'Pol,_ he reminded himself, _it's Malcolm._ _You don't get excited when Malcolm involuntarily rubs a part of his body against you._ Trip closed his eyes and tried to focus. _This isn't T'Pol, it's Malcolm._ But he failed. It was still T'Pol's breasts.

"Please stop doin' that, Malcolm."

"What? Helping you with the circuits?"

"Nope. That." Trip jerked his chin in the direction of his hips, afraid that T'Pol who was still working at the science station would hear him.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm frowned.

"Oh, for God's sake, Mal," he whispered, "It's hot, we're stuck in here and you're rubbing against me."

"Oh." Malcolm looked appalled for a moment, but then he chuckled. "I'm awfully sorry, Commander."

"Drop it, Lieutenant."

"What? That you can be so easily distracted, Commander?"

"I said drop it, Malcolm. And wouldya please lower your voice a bit. What's that?" Saved by the dog, Trip thought, when he heard loud barking.

"Sounds like Porthos."

"That's the Cap'n." Trip wiggled out of the small space. "I didn't hear him bark the whole time we've been here."

"That's right. We'd better have a look."

"He sounds agitated," T'Pol commented as she joined them at the hatch.

"Oh shit." Taking a look outside, Trip blanched. "I guess we didn't exactly land in the uninhabited part of the planet?"

"Indeed," T'Pol confirmed in a low voice.

Malcolm drew his phase pistol.

"Wait, Malcolm. Maybe they're friendly," Trip said, never taking his eyes off the approaching people.

"They don't look very hospitable to me."

Malcolm was right. There were about a dozen men, all clad in black military garments. Every one of them had a rifle in his hand that was pointed directly at the Starfleet officers. Trip cursed his carelessness that had made him leave his phase pistol in the locker. But even if he hadn't it wouldn't have made any difference. They couldn't compete with a dozen rifles. Trip glanced at his Captain, who had stopped barking and was watching the aliens with tense anticipation.

"Okay, Malcolm, put down your weapon."

"But, Trip…"

"What are you gonna do against twelve of these people? You'll only get yourself killed. Let's see if we can talk to them."

"They don't look as if anyone could talk to them." Malcolm eyed the dangerous looking group of aliens distrustfully. "But you're right, we can't do anything with just one phase pistol." The female voice held no sign of reproach, it only sounded frustrated. "Do you think now is the right time to panic, Commander?"

"Don't know." Trip bit his lip. "Let's find out." He looked at T'Pol and seeing approval in her eyes, he raised his hands to show that he was unarmed and meant no harm. "I'm Commander Charles Tucker from the starship Enterprise. We're gonna come out now."

Carefully he stepped through the hatch, followed by Malcolm and T'Pol. The armed men were watching them suspiciously.

"You don't have to be afraid," Trip said, smirking inwardly at the thought of who the fearful party was. Certainly not twelve men with rifles facing three unarmed persons. "Look, we don't mean any harm. Jus' lemme take out my UT so we can talk to each other."

Very slowly, Trip opened the zipper of his arm pocket to get out his UT. He was just taking out the device when the alien leader shouted something unintelligible. The words were alien, but Trip got the gist of them nevertheless.

"No, no, no," he yelled. "We're friends."

But the aliens didn't listen and they didn't understand. A few seconds later, projectiles hit all the Starfleet officers square in the chest, including Porthos, whose human face was slack with shock as he slumped back on the grass.

----------------------------------

"NO!" If he had been able to do so, Jon would have yelled in agony when he saw his crew collapse on the ground. The projectiles had been small but fired straight into the chest they couldn't be anything other than instantly lethal. _Stupid, xenophobic aliens._ Jon stared at his friends in plain shock. Shot dead without even getting the chance to explain who they were. How could such a thing happen? Only ten minutes ago he had been sitting on the grass on a peaceful planet, just waiting for Trip to finish his work so that they would be able to look for the anomaly and try to get their own bodies back. And now his friends, his dog and his own body were dead. Brutally shot down by aliens whose race he wasn't even familiar with.

Jon tried to find a sign that at least one of his friends was still alive, but none of them so much as groaned or twitched a limb. They lay there perfectly still. There was a small voice in the back of his head telling him that he would have died as well, had he been in his own body but the thought didn't carry any comfort. Now he was forever trapped in Porthos' body. He couldn't swap bodies if the mind in his own body had died, could he? And even if it were possible, he would never be able to drag his body into the shuttlepod and fly to the anomaly all by himself. He would never get back to Enterprise, would be stuck forever on an alien planet in a canine body. No, the fact that he still was alive carried no comfort at all.

He watched the aliens who had laid their rifles aside and were changing into some sort of protective clothing. Were they afraid to catch a bug from their dead victims? Jon felt an enormous rage rise inside him. If he had only been able to use one of those rifles. He would have grabbed one and shot all the aliens down without hesitation or regret. Jon felt tears well up inside him. Were dogs able to cry? He felt so damn helpless. Helpless, angry and alone.

--------------------------------

Cautiously, the aliens came closer. Jon couldn't see much of their faces because all of them were wearing helmets, but they looked rather human. Their bodies were small, about 1,50 to 1,60 meters in height in his estimation. They had small eyes and a large mouth, high cheekbones and two slits instead of a nose. And they smelled. Jon had never before smelled a stench like this, neither as a dog nor as a human. But there was another odor that had been there all the time, stronger in the beginning, barely noticeable after T'Pol's discovery that it could be possible to switch back into their own bodies, and was filling the air full force now. The smell of fear. And it wasn't coming from the direction of the aliens. It was to his right. The fear of three persons and the outright panic of a little creature who couldn't understand what was going on here. Jon's heart began to pound. Corpses didn't smell of living fear, did they? Jon felt a surge of happiness, although the situation was still threatening. But there was still hope. This meant that his friends were paralyzed, not dead. They seemed unable to move but they had to be conscious, otherwise Jon wouldn't have been able to smell their fear. Bless your sensitive doggy nose, Porthos, he thought, racking his brain what he could do to help them.

Twelve people were approaching the lifeless forms. Without thinking Jon jumped in front of his friends to protect them. The growl that came out of his mouth sounded very dangerous even to himself, but the man that was first in the group only laughed, brushing him aside with his gloved hand. At least that was what he intended to do. _Never underestimate an Earth dog,_ Jon thought as he dug his teeth deep into the man's arm. He felt the smooth material of the protective suit tear and then he tasted blood. Could an Earth dog stomach alien blood? Jon didn't care. He didn't care when he was lifted off the ground and the alien man tried to shake him off. Deeper and deeper he dug his teeth into the arm of the man, who cried out in pain. But then, out of the blue, something hit him on the head, hard, and he lost his grip. Hitting the ground, he thought "leave them alone" and then the lights went out.

TBC

You like it? Then please let me know about what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

His head was aching. His ribs were aching, as were his legs. His whole body was aching. Slowly, Jon opened his eyes, but all he could see was fuzzy darkness. He was surrounded by some sort of rough material and the surface under him was shaking, although he seemed to be lying on something soft. A loud noise was ringing in his ears that he couldn't identify. But when his memory kicked in and he remembered what had happened, he knew what was going on. He was on a vehicle that was bumping over an uneven surface. He could feel the wind, so maybe he was lying in some sort of cargo area. And the rough material around him seemed to be a sack that was tied up tightly. Jon tried to get to his feet but fell down again when the truck hit a pothole. Desperately, he kicked out in search of a secure footing, and hit something soft, causing someone to groan with pain. Malcolm's voice. So the soft objects he was lying on were his friends. Sorry, Trip, he thought, wondering which part of his friend's body he had hit.

The ride was getting rougher by the minute. Jon couldn't avoid being tossed around, eliciting more than a few groans from his friends beneath him. It seemed like hours until they reached a more even road, and the ride went on more smoothly. Jon started to gnaw on the rough material around him. He had no clue what he should do if he succeeded in freeing himself from the sack, but he trusted that there was a way to help his friends. The linen tasted dirty and more than once Jon felt the urge to vomit. But he didn't stop and eventually he was rewarded with a small hole, just big enough to stick his muzzle out.

When Jon did just that, the truck stopped abruptly and he could hear people shouting. Whatever their destination was, they seemed to have arrived. The bag was carelessly tossed to the ground and Jon landed on his shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he moved around until he had found the small hole and was able to have a look around. He had been right. They had been transported on some sort of truck with an open cargo area. A few men in uniforms were busy getting his crewmembers out. His friends were all bound hands and feet and gagged. Jon wished that he didn't own a beagle but a Doberman. Yes, it was nice to imagine how he would attack the aliens and free his friends, but he was only a small dog in a sack. He twisted his body to be able to see what they were doing to his friends.

Apparently they had arrived at some sort of small airfield. A vehicle that looked like a cross between an old shuttlepod and an aircraft was waiting with open hatches. Not too gently, each of his crewmembers were grabbed by two men and carried into the aircraft. For a scary moment Jon thought that he would be forgotten here on the road and run over by the truck, but at the very last moment, someone grabbed the bag and tossed him through the hatch. With a thud, he landed rather softly on something that he guessed to be T'Pol's breasts. His guess was confirmed when he heard her voice groan. He silently apologized to Malcolm. But at least they still were together, and he refused to give up hope.

------------------------

Trip tried to shift and change his position. It was easier, now that they were in an aircraft and weren't lying packed like sardines anymore. But with his hands and feet bound, moving was still difficult. He briefly wondered where their captors were taking them, his mind shifting back to the moment the alien people had shot them.

Thousands of thoughts had crossed his mind when he felt the impact of the projectile. Surprisingly enough, the pain was not as excruciating as he had expected. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Malcolm desperately reaching for his weapon, then he felt his legs buckle. As he slowly fell to his knees, he looked at his Captain. The canine face looked completely horrified. I'm so sorry, Jon, Trip thought. I screwed up. He tried do catch his fall with his hands, but found that he couldn't move them. Face first, he fell into the grass. But it didn't feel as if he were going to die. The pressure in his chest vanished and it felt as if the projectile was dissolving.

He could hear T'Pol fall down beside him, and a few seconds later Malcolm joined them. Trip's eyelids became too heavy to keep them open, and his whole body started to go numb. But he was still conscious. It was a weird feeling. The pain from the bullet was gone by now, there was only a sore spot where it had hit his chest. Trip tried to move with all his strength, but to no avail. He couldn't even make a sound. Helplessly, he had to wait what was to come. He heard the aliens talking to each other as they came closer. Fear welled up inside him. He wasn't usually afraid in dangerous situations, not when there was something to do; when he could flash into action, there was no time to be afraid. But now, lying on the ground, completely paralyzed and helpless, not even able to lift his eyelids to see what was about to happen, he heard his heart pounding in his chest. There was a growl just in front of his nose. A deep and dangerous sounding growl, and then Trip heard someone cry out loud in pain. Had he been able to do so, Trip would have smiled despite the situation. Yeah, go for it, Jon, he thought. Show them that at least one of us isn't helpless. But Trip knew that his Captain's efforts were to no avail, and he feared for him. Suddenly he heard a thud, a pained yelp and then it was quiet again. Trip's heart constricted. Had they killed Jon?

Rough hands grabbed him and pulled his hands brutally behind his back to tie them together. Another man bound his legs and a gag was forced into his mouth. From the sounds he could hear, Trip supposed that his comrades were submitted to the same treatment. Then he was rolled onto his back and his pockets were searched. Trip hoped that the aliens would realize that they were not hostile when they didn't find any weapons. Perhaps they could still try to talk. But from the few words the aliens were exchanging, Trip couldn't discern the mood they were in. Apparently not in the mood to talk. He strained his ears, trying to hear a sound from Jon, a sniff, a pant or whatever sound a dog could make, but there was nothing. Silence. Trip's heart sank even more. It was obvious that the aliens wanted them alive, but did this apply to a small animal as well? Trip had to admit that it was very possible that they had killed Jon after he had attacked one of them.

He became aware of the sound of an approaching vehicle. A big vehicle, he guessed, perhaps a truck. After a while, four hands lifted him and threw him not too gently on some sort of loading area. His back and his bound hands chafed painfully over a hard surface. After that, three other people were tossed there beside him, and the truck started rolling. Trip tried to breathe slowly and evenly. He still couldn't move and felt the bonds restricting his blood circulation. When the truck took a sharp turn, something landed on Trip's stomach. Something that kicked out to regain its footing. It was when his sensitive parts were hit that Trip realized two things. First, he had regained the ability to groan loudly, and second, Jon was alive. Thank God, Trip thought and the relief he felt let him forget about the pain. But only for a moment. Pins and needles started shooting through his body as the feeling returned to his limbs. This time, Trip succeeded in lifting his eyelids. He was lying face to face with Malcolm, who was looking at him worriedly. Trip had been right. They were lying on the bed of a truck, which was just wide enough for them. A black bag was lying on top of them, and was tossed around every time the truck took an abrupt turn. Trip had no idea where they were. All he could see was the afternoon sky and a beautiful sunset. He didn't know why, but the setting sun touched his heart. Perhaps this was the last sunset he'd ever see. The aliens didn't seem very friendly and Trip could only guess what was to come. Certainly not a friendly encounter with the planetary government.

And Enterprise didn't even know they were in trouble. They didn't expect them back before tomorrow. Maybe they'd wonder why the away team had stopped contacting them, but they wouldn't be worried. And when they finally noticed that something was wrong, it would be far too late to launch a rescue mission. Tomorrow, Trip supposed, they would be long dead.

There had to be something he could do. Trip tested the restraints, but they were too tight. He felt the ropes biting painfully into his flesh and stopped trying.

His eyes met with Malcolm's and he saw the knowing look in his friend's gaze. Of course Malcolm had also tried to get rid of his bonds, and had failed as well. If they could only talk and discuss the situation, perhaps they would be able to come up with a plan. But the aliens had known very well why they had gagged them.

Trip let out a sigh as the vehicle ran over a pothole and gave them a good shaking. These aliens pissed him off. Trip was sure these people never had met offworlders before. Perhaps they didn't know what to do and were getting careless. Perhaps there was a possibility to overcome their captors and escape. Perhaps there was a reasonable being amongst these people who would try to communicate with them. Perhaps…

Trip closed his eyes. There were too many uncertainties. To be honest, he didn't believe that one of those 'perhaps' would come true. But it was better not to think about the possible consequences of their capture.

The truck came to an abrupt halt and Trip could see an aircraft standing only a few meters away. Great, they'd never find their way back to the shuttlepod. Then again, Trip seriously doubted that they'd be able to search for their pod in the near future. He had a pretty good idea what was awaiting them when the aircraft arrived at its destination.

--------------------------

It was dark outside when they arrived at wherever they were now. Jon could see as much through the hole in the bag, or, more to the point he could see nothing except darkness. Again, they were hauled like cargo onto a vehicle but the ride only took a few minutes. Someone slit the bag open, grabbing the damn collar before he could try to do anything about it. Someone was laughing; another voice said something and the grip on the collar tightened. He started barking, just to be silenced by a painful tug at his neck. A rope was attached to the collar and he was yanked away. Jon realized that they were in some sort of military base. Buildings of various sizes were arranged in an otherwise deserted landscape.

The alien man all but dragged him into one of the larger buildings, always holding him at arm's length. Although he had been hoping for an opportunity, Jon never got the chance to bite him and escape. He was taken into a small room, and the rope was attached to a rack full of instruments that stood in a corner. The man said something, smirked, and then left.

-----------------------------

Eight guns were pointed at their heads. Two for each of them. And it didn't seem to be the rifles with the paralyzing projectiles. These looked definitely deadly. What were these people afraid of? With his feet tightly bound together, Trip was barely able to keep his balance on the paved yard. Malcolm and T'Pol were struggling for balance as well, and Porthos was about to lose the battle to stay on his feet. Trip glanced at him with sympathy and cursed his inability to even shout at the men to let him go. He looked around. It had to be a sort of research station, far away from any inhabited place. Desert was all he could see beyond the buildings. A few trees and bushes every now and then, but nothing else.

Two men opened the sack and freed the Captain. Trip was glad to see him unharmed, but he got even angrier at the treatment the men subjected him to. A rope was fastened to the collar and Jon was forcefully yanked away.

Three men in black and blue uniforms approached and studied them, talking to each other while doing so. Trip so wished he could talk to them, tell them that they posed no threat. But how were you supposed to communicate with a gag in your mouth and your hands and feet bound together, with aliens who didn't even try to understand you?

One of the men gave some orders, and immediately, four men started to work on the ropes that restrained their feet. Trip felt like lashing out but in view of the guns he refrained from doing so. Their feet were bound more loosely so that they could walk in small steps. With a blow to their backs, they were directed towards the same building where Jon had been taken. Not used to walking on two legs at all, Porthos fell down repeatedly and the hands that brought him back to his feet were rougher every time they did so. The men laughed when Porthos winced, and Trip felt rage well up inside him. A sideways glance told him that Malcolm was feeling the same, and even T'Pol had a grim expression on her face.

They were herded through endless hallways. Trip tried to remember which way they were going, but to no avail. Finally, they were shoved into a small room and forced to sit down on the bare floor. Three men in white coats came in and started to examine them. Scientists always look the same, Trip thought. One of the men demanded something, pointing at the restraints, but the military men refused. _Right,_ Trip thought, _don't let us loose. Wouldn't do you any good. _Any chances of diplomatic relations went down the drain a long time ago.

The men removed the gags. A rather small man grabbed Trip's chin and turned his head from side to side, then forced his mouth open to look at his teeth. Trip glared at him, but the gun that was pointed at his head stopped him from doing anything stupid. The language of guns was universal as well. But when the man stuck a slimy finger into his mouth to feel his tongue and his palate, Trip couldn't control himself any longer. The alien cried out loud when he felt the teeth of his test subject dig deep into his flesh. Trip heard the gun click, but didn't stop. Just a second before he was shot, one of the other scientists shouted at the man with the gun and prevented him from firing. The scientist knelt down beside them and forced Trip's mouth open. Trip waited for a blow to come but it didn't. The injured scientist got to his feet and stared down at him while he took a piece of cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around his finger. He gave some orders to the military men and left with his colleagues. Cautiously, one man knelt down and tightened the ropes on Trip's feet while his colleagues did the same with Malcolm and T'Pol.

"Tighter," Trip advised sarcastically. "You'd better not risk us gettin' outta here."

The man glanced at him with an expression that was a mixture of curiosity, fear and disgust. He tested the restraints, got to his feet and left with his colleagues. The door closed and Trip heard something like a bar being shoved into place, and they were alone.

Malcolm looked at him. "I hope he tasted good," he smirked.

"Not exactly." Trip grinned at him. It was a good feeling to be able to talk again.

"They could have shot you."

"Yeah, I know it was stupid, but I bet you'd have done the same."

T'Pol looked at him. "I believe we are in a research facility."

Trip nodded. "It's a damn Roswell."

He saw his own eyebrows shoot up. He briefly wondered whether he would be able to do this as well when he was in his own body again, then remembered that he would very likely die in Malcolm's body.

"I'm not familiar with this name," T'Pol said.

"Roswell is a small town in New Mexico," Trip explained. "Some famous people came from there. John Denver for instance."

Malcolm shifted to find a more comfortable position. "I didn't know you liked country music."

"Nah, not exactly, but 'Country Roads' is a classic. You can even find it in our database. And Demi Moore is from Roswell."

"Who?"

"C'mon, Malcolm, Demi Moore. "Ghost", "G.I. Jane", "Indecent Proposal"

"Yeah, I remember the last one. You showed it on movie night a few weeks ago."

T'Pol frowned. "I do not understand what singers and actors have to do with this place."

"Sorry, T'Pol." Trip frowned. "In the middle of the twentieth century, an alien ship crashed in the area of Roswell. Oh, we sent probes into space with messages like: 'Come to Earth, all foreign species, make yourself at home, we're friends.' But from what I read in a report they weren't exactly welcomed with open arms when they actually came."

Malcolm shook his head. "I don't need to tell you that the first probe of this kind was the Arecibo message, which was sent in November 1974. You have to admit, the crash you mentioned was some decades earlier. At that time people were just frightened to meet aliens on their planet."

"Yes, it's the same here. T'Pol, do you know anything about this people?"

"It is a pre-warp civilization, although they are technologically advanced."

"So they're at the same level Earth was around the end of the millennium?"

"A correct estimation."

"I'm tellin' you, we're in an alien Roswell. They've never seen people from other worlds before. The military wants to shoot us, the scientists want to cut us open, the government doesn't know what to do and we scare the hell outta them all."

"We have to find a way to communicate with them," T'Pol stated.

"That could be difficult," Malcolm said. "I suppose our devices, the UT's as well as our weapons, are being thoroughly analyzed by now, but I doubt they'll be able to identify the UT's as a device they could use to talk to us."

"I don't think they'd talk to us even if they had the opportunity to do so." Trip grimaced. "Did you see the look on that scientist's face? He can't wait to cut us open and to pull out our intestines."

"That is not very scientific," T'Pol objected.

"No, but it's very likely."

They heard voices just outside the door and the bar slid back. They were coming to take them to the laboratory. Trip sighed. So that was the end. And there was nothing they could do to prevent it.

* * *

TBC

Please be so kind as to leave a review. Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks a lot for reading and reviewing. Your reviews are very much appreciated. **

**5 **

(Spoilers for DS9 episode "Little Green Men", in which the Ferengi landed on Earth)

Trip held his breath when four men with rifles came in. He recognized the rifles the aliens had used back at the shuttlepod and briefly wondered whether the scientists had told security not to use the guns on the prisoners. Of course, they needed them alive to run their tests on them. Scientists didn't need military men who were eager to shoot their lab rats. Had it been the same at Roswell? Trip stared at the men who were beginning to talk to each other as if they weren't quite sure which one of them to take first. Roswell. He had always been fascinated by the events there and the many rumors they had started. At first, people had been told that a registering balloon had come down, but later on stories about crash-landed aliens had leaked out. Still, a copy of an old tape existed in which a strange looking alien was cut open. The tape had fake written all over it and Trip had only smirked when he had seen it, but he had to admit that for twentieth century standards, it looked quite realistic. Eventually, the government had admitted that the unidentified objects had been the remnants of a highly classified project, but Trip always had thought that there was more to it. When he had been working with Jon at the Warp 5 project he had gotten access to a few classified files that revealed the truth. Aliens _had _crashlanded in Roswell. Very strange looking people, small in height, with oversized ears and sharp teeth. Like the strange little pirates who had tried to rob Enterprise during their first year in space. Trip wondered if they might indeed belong to the same race and if so, why Earth hadn't seen more of them yet. Then again, Trip could gather from the file that the aliens hadn't been treated very well. So Earth wouldn't exactly be the place they would add to their tour guides, would it? The file had said they had managed to escape. Trip wasn't sure about that at all. And if they hadn't, he was willing to bet that the humans from that century who had never dealt with aliens before had treated them the very same way he and his crewmates were being treated by these people right now. You always feared what you didn't know, didn't you?

Abruptly, Trip was pulled out of his train of thoughts when two of the men grabbed T'Pol and pulled her to her feet. With her legs and hands bound, she was struggling for balance. The man who held her arm tightened his grip so much that she let out a small cry.

It was then that Malcolm decided to take action. Lying on his back, he whipped up his feet and kicked the alien's side forcefully. The man cried out and let go of T'Pol, when another man stepped closer, lifting his foot to give Malcolm a good kick. The Armory Officer reacted instinctively, kicked him in the stomach with both feet and sent him stumbling into the wall. Just when Malcolm tried to sweep the third one off his feet, a shot echoed through the small room and Enterprise's security officer slumped onto the floor. Keeping a weary eye on T'Pol, the fourth man shouldered his rifle and helped his colleague to his feet. Barking orders, he raised his chin in T'Pol's direction. Two of the men grabbed her and dragged her outside.

Trip felt awful. Poor T'Pol, what was awaiting her now? He had no doubt he would find out very soon. The very same treatment was awaiting him, Malcolm and Porthos. He shifted uncomfortably and grimaced. What a perfect time for the itching to return. The Chinese food really hadn't agreed with him. Although the question of food allergies was probably moot. He seriously doubted that he'd get any food ever again.

He looked over at Malcolm who was lying on his back with his eyes closed.

"How're you feelin', Malcolm?" he asked, knowing very well that he wouldn't get an answer. Briefly, he wondered what material these projectiles were made of to completely paralyze the victims, yet allowed them to stay conscious at the same time. "That wasn't the smartest move, y'know." Trip rubbed his back against the hard floor. Damn itch. He glanced at Malcolm. It didn't make a big difference whether he was trussed up like a turkey or paralyzed like his friend. To be honest, he would have done the same had he been close enough to the men to try. You always defended your friends, didn't you? Even if you knew that your enemies were going to shoot you with paralyzing ammunition.

He grinned despite their predicament. "But then again, I didn't expect you to just stay where you are. It was a great sight, Malcolm. You nearly took three of them out. And with your hands and feet bound, no less. Guess this bunch needs some training. What do you think, Porthos? How're you feelin', boy? It's scary, isn't it? But you're doin' great. At least you're not trying to be a hero like our Security Officer here."

Trip knew he was babbling. Neither Malcolm nor Porthos could give him an answer, but this way he could at least shut out the silence and distract himself from thinking of T'Pol and what was happening to her right now. The feeling of being totally helpless was driving him crazy, but there was only one option left: waiting for the men to come back and take them to the laboratories.

-------------------------------

_Okay Jon, think. You've got to do something. And hurry, you're running out of time. _Jon started gnawing at the rope. It tasted dirty and like …. Rope. Being a dog really sucked. Jon grimaced inwardly, tried to forget about the bad taste and bit down on the rope, hard. Suddenly he heard voices and footsteps. He anxiously stopped what he was doing and the noises passed by. They didn't seem to care about a little alien animal. Big mistake, Jon thought, very big mistake, guys. He began to tear at the rope, his gaze always focused watchfully on the rack. It wouldn't be good if the thing toppled over and landed on top of him. It looked quite heavy, never mind the noise the falling instruments would make. Jon went back to gnawing at the rope. Gnawing and tearing, gnawing and tearing until finally the rope gave way and snapped. Relieved, Jon turned around only to find out what he had known all along without realizing it. The door was closed, of course. He hadn't thought about the fact that a dog couldn't open doors. _Okay Jon, this dog can, you just have to find a way of doing it. _Jon eyed the door handle. It couldn't be too difficult. At least if the door wasn't locked. He just had to try. He broke into a run, aimed and jumped. With a hard thump he crashed against the door frame and fell back to the floor, his aching shoulder sending a fierce stab of pain through his body. _Not quite what you were going for, Jon. _The problem was that he had no clue how high Porthos could jump and how hard he had to push himself off to reach the handle. His legs and shoulder were aching when after the fourth or fifth try he finally reached the handle with his foreleg and succeeded in pressing it down. But the door opened to the inside and there was no way he could press down the handle and pull it open at the same time. Frustrated, Jon lay down on the floor, racking his brain for another solution. He felt sympathy for Porthos who had had to cope with closed doors his whole life. Jon felt exhausted and very hot. How did Porthos deal with heat? Oh yeah, he panted. Jon grimaced, but then he stuck his tongue out and started panting. It helped; he could feel his body cooling down. Actually, he was glad that Trip couldn't see him like this. Trip. His crewmates. He had to concentrate on the task at hand. Time was running short. He didn't know how long he had been here, he was sure that half an hour had passed, if not more. Whatever these aliens were planning to do to his friends, he was sure that it wasn't pleasant. He had to hurry. Jon looked around. A small table on wheels was standing there in a corner. Slowly, Jon managed to push it to the door. It took him several minutes to position it against the wall on the right side of the door handle. With a well-calculated jump, he got onto the table and reached for the handle. He held his breath for a moment, but the door wasn't locked. Jon could open it a few centimeters. He jumped down, stuck his muzzle through the crack and pushed it open. _Well done so far. Porthos would be proud of you._

Jon tried to orientate himself. He was in a long hallway with doors on both sides. And as far as he could see, there were other hallways forking off in all directions. How the hell was he going to find his friends? He wasn't even sure they were in the same building. _Concentrate, Jon. You're a dog. You have a good nose and a fine hearing. So use your senses. _A lot of noises were in the air, but they didn't indicate that his crewmates were around. But there was a familiar scent not too far away. Trip. Trip had to be here somewhere. No, Jon corrected himself. Trip's body was here, so it had to be T'Pol. With renewed hope, Jon made his way down the corridor, always careful not to let himself be seen.

He followed Trip's scent through the hallway, around the corner, another corner and down another hallway. Then he could hear muffled voices. They were coming from a room whose door stood ajar. With his muzzle, Jon opened the door a bit more until he was able to look into the room. All he could see were legs. Lots of legs. Jon looked up. Four people were busy tying T'Pol to a table, carefully watched over by two more men who were aiming rifles at the already immobilized body. Jon's heart constricted at the sight, and he racked his brain what he could do. There was a table with instruments, but Jon couldn't reach them. What would he do with them anyway? Even in his human body he wouldn't have been able to fight six men. He had to get help. And soon. Briefly, Jon wondered if he should cause some confusion by running through the room, knocking over the instrument table or biting the scientists. But he had to admit that he would achieve nothing. Eventually, he would only get himself killed or recaptured. As hard as it was to abandon T'Pol, he had to find Trip and Malcolm first.

Jon was already retreating when one of the men with the rifles bumped against the table with the instruments and several of them clattered to the floor, a scalpel sliding into Jon's direction. The scientists looked up angrily and yelled at the man who started shouting himself. Hiding behind a chair and silently praying that no one would notice him, Jon snuck into the room and grabbed the scalpel that was lying on the floor about two meters away. He was sure it would come in handy when they had to defend themselves. It was difficult to pick the instrument up with only his mouth, but after three desperate tries Jon succeeded in doing so. The six men were still arguing and none of them looked down at the floor. Being a small dog definitely had its advantages.

With his heart pounding, Jon reached the door and succeeded in getting out just as three of the men started heading in his direction. Frantically, Jon searched for a hiding place and when he couldn't find one, he broke into a run and made it around the corner into another hallway just in time. As he cautiously glanced back, he saw three of the men, the two soldiers and one scientist walking away in the other direction. That left only three with T'Pol. Good. Jon was sure once he had freed Trip and Malcolm, they'd be able to take three men together. Always assuming the guards didn't come back. But first he had to find his crewmates. Jon laid the scalpel aside and tried to catch his breath. A dog's heartbeat was faster than a human's, and right now his heart was pounding in his chest as if trying to rip itself apart. Jon pricked his ears and tried to filter the noises he heard. Sounds of people talking and machines humming mingled together, but suddenly Jon could hear the muffled sound of a familiar language. He picked up the scalpel and walked towards the sound. After he had crossed two other hallways he was able to identify the voice. It was Malcolm's. But he couldn't hear T'Pol's voice. Why was Trip talking to himself? Why wasn't Malcolm answering?

Jon reached a sturdy door that was secured with a crude wooden bar. How simple, he thought. The aliens had rifles that could paralyze people, but used archaic methods to lock up their prisoners. _I wouldn't complain if I were you, Jon,_ his inner voice told him,_ what would you do with an electronic lock?_

He laid the scalpel down, scratched at the wooden door and let out a short bark. The voice inside fell silent for a moment. Then he heard Malcolm's voice again.

"Cap'n, is that you?"

He barked again, anxiously looking around. If one of the aliens heard him or came around the corner just now, he'd be screwed.

"Can you get us out, Cap'n? The bastards have got T'Pol and they paralyzed Malcolm. Porthos is here with us, too. I hope you know how to bite through ropes."

Jon pulled Porthos's lips into a smirk. He had something better than that. But first he had to open the door. He looked around. All the doors to the rooms were closed. All but one. It was a room with some furniture; a table, a few chairs, even a locker. The chairs were too heavy for him to move, but there, in a corner, stood a small stool. It screeched over the floor when Jon tried to push it to the door. They would hear him if he did it this way. Jon searched the room with his eyes. There was a table cloth on the table. He could try pulling it down, topple the stool over onto it and drag it outside. _And how would you set it up again? Think Jon, there has to be another option._

Jon ducked under the stool, arched his back and tried to lift the four legs of the stool just high enough so they wouldn't scratch over the floor. It worked, but the furniture rested very unsteadily on his back. And it was very exhausting to walk with his back arched like this. All the same, creeping forward an inch at a time he managed to carry the stool outside until he had reached the door of the cell, where he set it down.. Jumping onto the stool and getting on his hind legs, he found that he could reach the bar with his muzzle. Pressing and pulling, he managed to shove it aside. He jumped off the stool, pushed it aside and opened the door with his muzzle and his forepaws.

Relieved, he looked around. Porthos was lying slumped in the corner, Trip on the right side of the room and Malcolm on his back on the left side.

"Never been so happy to see you, Cap'n. Can you try to get me out of these?"

Jon turned around.

"Cap'n. Where are you goin'?"

Jon let out a small bark to tell Trip he wouldn't leave them. He picked up the scalpel that still was lying outside the door. He saw Trip's eyes widen when his friend saw what he was carrying. But Trip didn't hesitate to turn around so that Jon could reach his bound hands.

How the hell were you supposed to use a scalpel when you only had your mouth to grasp it, Jon thought. He tried to get a better grip on the handle, but it was hard to hold it steady. Trip's hands were tightly bound and Jon feared he would cut his friend's wrists rather than through the ropes.

"C'mon, Cap'n, we don't have time for this. Jus' do it."

He had no choice. Better to have some cuts in your wrists than end up dead. Guiding the sharp device with his mouth, Jon brought it to Trip's wrists and began to cut the ropes by moving his head back and forth.

"Ouch!"

Jon stopped in his tracks when he heard Trip cry out and blood started to flow over his friend's left hand.

"Doesn't matter, Jon. Hurry up."

When Trip was finally able to tear the ropes apart, both of his hands were bleeding from at least four cuts. As the Chief Engineer grabbed the scalpel, Jon gave him an apologetic look.

"I told ya it doesn't matter," Trip reassured him. "It's only a few cuts. Good job, Cap'n. Thanks a lot." He got to his feet and staggered over to Malcolm. "We have to find T'Pol," he told his Captain while he rolled Malcolm over to be able to reach his hands.

Jon nodded and pointed at the door by raising his head.

"Ya know where they're keepin' her?"

Jon nodded.

"That's good. Did you hear that, Malcolm? The Cap'n knows where she is." Trip cut the ropes and helped Malcolm into a more comfortable position. "Jus' hang on, we'll be back to get you."

In a hurry, Trip went over to Porthos to free him as well. Porthos let out a low growl.

"It's me, boy, Trip. We're you're friends, remember?"

Porthos looked up and suddenly the frightened expression in the Captain's face changed and a wet tongue licked over Trip's cheek. The Engineer smiled. Whether Porthos had understood the words or not, he seemed to realize that they would do their best to help him.

"It's okay, Porthos. The Cap'n an' me are gonna find T'Pol. You wait here and take care of Malcolm." Reassuringly, Trip stroked over the short hair and patted Porthos' shoulder.

"Okay, Cap'n, let's find T'Pol."

With a last glance at Malcolm, who still had his eyes closed, Trip held the door open for Jon and then went outside.

"D'you know how many people are around here?", he asked Jon, watching the dog sniff the air and pricking his ears. "You're doing great, Cap'n, you know that? Porthos couldn't do any better."

Grabbing his only weapon, the scalpel, in a tight grip, he carefully followed his friend through the hallways, which, fortunately enough, were empty most of the time. Only twice they had to take cover to let a few aliens pass. Trip didn't know where the people were going and he didn't care. He had long ago discarded the idea that they could talk to this species somehow. Their only chance was to find a way out of here.

He missed Malcolm. He wasn't sure what one man and one dog could do to rescue T'Pol. Malcolm, with his security training and his sharp mind could have made the difference between failing and winning. Trip was sure that Malcolm was chastening himself more than anyone else could do right now. The security officer knew, of course, that he had diminished their chances of getting out with his futile attack. But Trip wasn't blaming him. It had been a natural reaction. Malcolm just couldn't watch a friend being mistreated and do nothing.

Suddenly, Trip heard voices and then a long scream of pain filled the air. A shudder ran down his spine when he recognized the voice. It was his own.

* * *

TBC

Please let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you very much for all your rewies.

6

"That's T'Pol," Trip stated the obvious. What could they have done to her to make the self-controlled Vulcan scream like that? He clenched his fists and tried to calm the fierce rage that was welling up inside him. It was hard not to storm into that room and free T'Pol no matter what. But he needed to stay cool. He didn't know how many people were in there and how heavily they were armed. _Damn it Malcolm, I could use you and your tactical mind here,_ he thought desperately.

Trip was still trying to come up with a plan when they arrived at a door that stood ajar. Jon pointed a paw at it. Carefully, Trip glanced inside. Three scientists were leaning over T'Pol, engrossed in an excited discussion and lost to the rest of the world. They didn't even notice when Trip silently pushed the door open a little more.

"They don't have any weapons," Trip mouthed in Jon's direction. He frowned. A straightforward attack seemed to be the best option. Three men against one and a dog. Difficult, but not impossible. Scientists weren't trained fighters, were they? Involuntarily, Trip clenched his fist around the scalpel, noticing that its handle was slippery. Looking down at his hand, he realized that blood was still dripping from the cuts in his wrists, leaving a drop on the floor every now and then and wetting his palm. He wiped his hand and the handle clean on his uniform, still trying to determine the best course of action. Even if the scientists weren't fighters, it was still three against one. And what if they called for help and the men with the guns and rifles came back? Briefly, Trip wondered where all the people were. It was night, but he couldn't imagine that they were just sleeping after they had caught a bunch of aliens on their planet. And even if they were, there had to be a guard somewhere.

Nervously, Trip bit his lip. They just had to try. He could only see T'Pol's legs but she didn't even twitch. Trip assumed that she was unconscious.

One of the scientists reached for a scalpel. There was no time left. No matter how great the risk, they couldn't allow these people to hurt T'Pol even more.

Biting his lip, Trip looked down at Jon. "You like bacon, don't ya?"

As an answer, Jon broke into a run, jumped and dug his teeth into the left buttock of the man who stood nearest to them. Trip didn't take the time to watch and attacked the second man. With a sideways glance, he could see his own body lying on the table. There was blood all over it. His barely controlled anger flared up again and with a hard upper-cut, he sent his opponent flying into the corner. The third one didn't even try to participate in the fight, but ran to an intercom on the wall.

"Oh no, you don't." If the man managed to call for help, they'd be in a right fix. Trip weighed the scalpel in his hand. It wasn't designed for throwing, but he would have to jump over the examination table to reach the man. He took aim and prayed that he hadn't forgotten how to throw a knife. His brother Andy had taught him when Trip had been twelve years old. Unnoticed by his mother, he had been practicing for a whole week until Andy was careless enough to stand too close to the target and ended up with the knife sticking from his thigh. Fortunately, it was only a small pocket knife, because neither of them was allowed to own anything that could be used as a weapon, and there wasn't much damage, but their mother hadn't been amused at all.

The scalpel hit the man in the stomach. Crying out loud, he bent over and clutched at the wound with his hands. Trip couldn't afford the time to care; the man he had sent to the floor jumped at him the very same moment. Trip turned around and slammed him into a trolley with medical devices. The trolley toppled over and with a deafening sound all the devices crashed to the floor. The scientist got caught under the trolley and his body went limp.

Frantically, Trip looked around. There was no way that no one had heard the noise in here. The wounded scientist was crying for help and the one with Jon still clinging to his behind had begun to spin around to get rid of the dog. Jon was sailing through the air as if he were riding a carousel, but he didn't let go. Blood was dripping from his mouth and his hind legs were outstretched from the centrifugal force, his ears all but flapping behind him, but he was obviously giving the man a very hard and painful time.

Trip ran around the table and reached the man who was trying to pull the scalpel out of his body, but was apparently afraid to do so. He looked up at Trip with frightened eyes and pleaded something unintelligible.

"I'm really sorry." Trip hated to hit a helpless man, but he couldn't afford the scientist to remain conscious. With a punch to the man's chin, he sent him into oblivion.

"One to go." Trip turned around when he heard a painful yelp. The other scientist had succeeded in getting rid of Jon by smashing him into the wall. Trip grabbed a metal chair that was standing beside him and hit the man right over the head, knocking him out in the process. Throwing the chair aside, Trip crouched down beside Jon who was lying slumped next to the wall.

"You okay?"

Jon nodded wearily and tried to get to his feet.

Trip rushed over to T'Pol, shuddering when he saw his own body tied down on the table. They had cut off his clothes and he was only wearing his blue briefs. Electrodes were fastened to his head. His chest was cut open and blood was flowing freely over the naked upper body. A spreader was lying on the side, ready to be used. Trip thought he could see his ribs through all the blood but he wasn't sure. Better not look too close.

"They've cut her open," he explained to Jon who had arrived at his side, still on wobbly feet, but apparently unharmed. "Bastards." Trip rummaged through the lockers until he found some bandages. Jon disappeared through the door, obviously to check the surroundings.

Desperately, Trip struggled with his own body. It was frightening to see himself wounded like this. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He found it very difficult to lift the unconscious body and at the same time apply a pressure bandage to the gaping wound. He had to hurry. Every moment he anticipated the guards to rush in and shoot him down with the paralyzing rifles or with one of their projectile weapons. And even if they managed to get out of here Trip had no idea what to do with T'Pol unconscious, Malcolm paralyzed and Porthos too clumsy to walk on his own.

T'Pol began to stir. Slowly she opened her eyes and a moan escaped her lips. Trip didn't know whether to be glad or sorry that she was awake.

"I'm sorry, T'Pol, we couldn't get here earlier. How are you feeling?"

"I will manage." T'Pol braced herself against the table and hissed when she lowered her legs to the floor.

"Wow, slowly, T'Pol, take it easy. You have quite a cut in your chest. I'm afraid I couldn't find any anesthetics."

"I am able to control the pain," T'Pol answered, taking shallow breaths.

Trip finished his job and stuffed his pockets full with all bandages he could find in the locker.

"Your wrists are bleeding," T'Pol stated.

"Yeah, but it's only a few superficial cuts. Nothin' to be worried about."

"You should bandage them nevertheless."

"We don't have time for this, T'Pol."

"You are losing blood and the track will be easy to follow."

Trip stopped and nodded. T'Pol had a point. Hastily, he wrapped a bandage around each of his wrists, fastening them carelessly. "That'll have to do for now. Can you walk?"

"I will try."

With Trip's help, T'Pol stood. At the same time Jon came back, letting out a small bark.

"I know Cap'n, we have to go. Is the coast clear?"

Jon nodded.

"It's incredible that the guards didn't show up here with all the noise we made. Where the hell are they? Not that I'm complainin'," he added, helping T'Pol out the door.

"Lead the way, Jon."

Trip had to admit that he would have been able to find the way back to their cell on his own. All he needed to do was follow the occasional drop of blood on the floor. Silently, he praised T'Pol's logical mind to think of such things even in her injured state. She was leaning on him heavily and Trip could literally feel her struggling for control.

"How is Lieutenant Reed?" she asked in a low voice.

"The guards paralyzed him."

"It was illogical to try and help me. He must have known that he stood no chance against these men."

"Yeah, you're right. But sometimes we humans don't act very logically where our friends are concerned. I would've done the same, illogical as it is."

"I understand," T'Pol said but Trip wasn't so sure about that.

T'Pol coughed and gasped involuntarily. Trip stopped to give her some time to catch her breath. Worriedly, he noticed that the bandages around her chest were already soaked with blood. She needed a doctor and soon. But where to find one who didn't want to finish the job the scientists had begun? Although they had escaped for now, they were still in a big mess and Trip had no idea how to solve it. He felt his heart thump in his chest. His muscles were tense with nervousness. It was impossible that their escape would go so smoothly. These people might never have seen aliens before and had left them all alone? Trip just couldn't imagine that there were no guards. And even if they managed to get out of the building, what then? As far as he knew, the complex was located in the middle of nowhere. So where could they hide, where could they go? They'd never find the way back to their shuttlepod without help. And help seemed to be scarce on this planet.

Jon let out a small bark. They had to get going.

"You okay?" Trip asked T'Pol.

The Vulcan nodded. "Let us proceed. How do you plan to get Lieutenant Reed and the Captain's dog out of here?"

"To be honest, I don't know."

"I noticed earlier that the Lieutenant recovered more quickly from the paralyzing shot than we did. Perhaps my Vulcan body is able to metabolize the substance faster than a human."

"That would help a lot. I only hope that no one checked the cell in the meantime."

"Unlikely. If this were the case they would be searching for us by now."

"Yeah, you have a point there." Trip fell silent. He could see that talking was painful for T'Pol. Hell, he was sure he wouldn't even be able to move with a cut like this in his chest. Suddenly, he became aware that it actually was his chest that was cut open. And once they were back in their own bodies, it would be him who had to deal with the pain. Trip swallowed. Better not think of it. First they had to escape these aliens, find their shuttle, find the anomaly and then, if everything went fine, he could deal with his injured body. But the chances of getting out of here weren't in their favor.

Still unnoticed, they arrived at their cell and slipped inside. Malcolm hadn't moved, but his eyes were open. Trip crouched down beside him.

"Malcolm, how are you feelin'?"

Knowing how his vocal chords had responded to the paralyzing shot, he didn't expect an answer and startled when he actually got one.

"I'm almost fine."

"You can talk?"

"Yes, my voice came back a few minutes ago. I may be able to move again in about fifteen or twenty minutes."

"We don't have the time to wait, Malcolm."

"I know. You must leave me behind."

"The hell we will."

Malcolm lifted his eyes to T'Pol who was leaning against the wall for support.

"What happened to T'Pol?"

"They cut her chest open. She needs a doctor."

"Could be difficult to find one who is willing to help us." Malcolm sighed. "Listen Trip, you have to get T'Pol and Porthos out of here. I'll follow you when I'm able to do so."

"Either all of us are going or none of us," Trip glanced at Jon and saw approval in the dog's face.

"And how do you plan to get us all out of here?"

"I can assist the Captain's dog," T'Pol told them in an astonishingly steady voice.

"You can barely walk yourself," Trip contradicted.

"I will do what is necessary."

Trip wasn't sure she was in the condition to do so, but he was willing to try. He crouched down beside Porthos. "Hey boy, we're gonna scram. You hear me? We're getting out of here. But you have to walk. Do you understand? Come on, get up, please."

Trip helped Porthos to his feet and for the first time he had the feeling that the dog was acting on his own, trying to control the unfamiliar body.

"T'Pol will help you and you'll help her, okay?"

T'Pol slipped her arm around Porthos's shoulders and together they made a few tentative steps. Trip heaved Malcolm up and flung him over his shoulder. T'Pol was a lot easier to carry than Malcolm would have been, and for a moment Trip was glad they had switched bodies.

Malcolm was still protesting. "I told you to leave me behind, Trip."

"I'm telling you to shut up, Malcolm. We're not leavin' anyone behind. So you can save your breath."

Carefully, he peered outside. Even now, there was no one to be seen. Trip didn't know what to think of this. It was all going far too smoothly and that made him even more nervous.

Slowly, they followed Jon, who was trying to find the way out. Suddenly he stopped, pricking his ears and sniffing the air.

"What's the matter, Jon?" Trip asked.

"Aliens," Malcolm stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "Two or three. In the next hallway."

"How do you know?"

"I can hear them. And I can smell them. These people stink like they haven't washed themselves their whole life."

"Are they coming towards us? There's no place to hide here."

"I can't tell for sure. The smell is everywhere. I think they're passing by, as far as I can tell from the sounds. I guess we're lucky."

It was then that they heard shouting behind them. Trip didn't understand the words, but there was no doubt as to their meaning. Slowly, with Malcolm on his shoulders, he turned around and found himself face to face with five men with guns in their hands.

"Guess we're not."

* * *

TBC

As always, please be as kind as to leave a review. Thank you.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you so much for all the nice reviews. It is great to see that you like the story.

**7**

One of the aliens was shouting angrily at them. Even though Trip couldn't understand the words, their meaning, underlined by menacing guns pointed at them, was very clear. Briefly, Trip calculated their chances. Malcolm was still unable to move, T'Pol heavily injured, Porthos was still learning to control the Captain's human body and Jon, as courageous as he was, couldn't help much in his current condition. That left him alone against five men. Trip guessed it would be best to surrender, but his insides bristled at the mere thought.

"Just drop me, Trip," he heard Malcolm whisper. "You need your hands free."

"I've got a better idea." Trip looked in the hard alien faces and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Sorry, Malcolm."

Out of the blue, he whirled around and smashed Malcolm's bootclad feet straight into the first alien's face. The man lost his weapon and stumbled backwards into his comrades. The alien guard never had a chance to recover from the unexpected attack. With a threatening growl, Jon jumped and managed to catch hold of the arm of one of the alien men. When the sharp teeth locked around his wrist, the man cried out and let go of his weapon, trying to hit the dog. As Trip was turning around to smash Malcolm's feet into another guard a movement caught his attention. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Porthos stagger forward and throw himself at a guard who had been aiming his weapon at Trip, ready to fire. The last one of the men suddenly slumped to the ground with a surprised expression on his face when T'Pol used the Vulcan nerve pinch on him.

Quickly but carefully, Trip let Malcolm slide to the ground and used his fists to help Jon and Porthos with their opponents. Panting with the exertion of the fight, he gathered up the weapons, three guns and two rifles, and put one of the guns in T'Pol's hand, although she seemed to be on the verge of losing consciousness. But the aliens didn't know that. Trip guided Porthos to one side, patting his shoulder. "You did great, boy," he praised him. "Why don't you take a little break?" Turning around, Trip frowned at the five men who were lying on the floor, three of them unconscious and the other two staring at the muzzles of their own guns. "I'm gonna find somethin' to restrain them."

"Trip," Malcolm said, still lying next to the wall where Trip had put him down. "It looks like they're carrying some sort of handcuffs."

Trip's eyes lit up when he saw the cuffs the men had in their pockets. "Thanks, guys. That saves us a lot of time." He took another gun and turned to the two men who were still conscious. "D'you mind getting up?" he smirked, emphasizing his request with a movement of his hand. The guards looked at each other and Trip felt genuine satisfaction at the sight of the fear in their eyes. He grabbed the jacket of one man and yanked him up; the second one following suit. Trip led them into a nearby room. One of the men looked as if he was thinking about taking his chances, but a look at Trip's grim face taught him better. Without resistance they allowed him to shackle them to a rack that was fastened to the wall and to gag them with some rags he found lying around. After Trip had dragged the unconscious men into the room and restrained them as well, he allowed himself a minute's rest. Sitting down beside Malcolm, he tried to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, Trip," Malcolm said in a somber tone.

"What for?"

"I didn't hear this group coming. I was concentrating too much on the men ahead."

"Doesn't matter." Trip waved his hand dismissively, glad that they succeeded in overpowering the men so easily. "They were no match to us."

"That was a nice move, Commander," Malcolm stated dryly.

"Thanks to your help," Trip replied. "I hope I didn't hurt ya."

Malcolm slowly shook his head. "You didn't."

Trip's eyebrows shot up. "You can move?"

"A little. The paralysis is subsiding."

"That's great. Can you walk?"

"I'm afraid not. But you can just leave me here and I'll catch up with you when I'm able to."

Trip sighed. But before he could answer, T'Pol began to speak.

"It would be highly illogical to leave you behind, Lieutenant. As you will remember you are still inhabiting my body and I intend to have it back, which would be impossible if we left you here."

Gaping, Trip stared at her. T'Pol was sweating and she was obviously in heavy pain, but that had definitely been a joke.

Malcolm chuckled. "Must be your body that is affecting her. Perhaps she'll develop a Southern charm in the end."

"Yeah, and perhaps you're gonna develop some logic to understand that we won't leave you behind."

Jon gave a small bark.

Trip nodded. "I know, we have to go." He stood and lifted Malcolm onto his shoulders. "We have to find someplace to hide. I only hope there are no more guards around."

-------------------------------

They were lucky. Led by Jon, they arrived at a bulky door without further incidents. Trip put Malcolm down to open the exit door, relieved when he realized that it wasn't locked. Carefully, he peeked outside. It was still dark, but some kind of small factory hall about 50 meters away was illuminated with a lot of big spotlights. People were rushing back and forth but Trip couldn't see what they were doing. But it didn't matter.

"They are workin' on something," he told his friends. "We have to be careful but I guess we can get away without bein' noticed."

"Still, it will not be easy to find a place to hide," T'Pol said. "We cannot go anywhere."

Trip nodded. "That's right," he agreed, "but we'll buy some time. Let's find a place to hide and then we'll decide what to do." He gave T'Pol a scrutinizing look. The bandages that covered her chest were soaked with blood and he was sure that she was starting to develop a fever. She looked miserable, and it didn't help that she was still only clad in his blue briefs and had no shoes on. There was no sign that she was feeling embarrassed but Trip knew only too well how he would feel in a situation like this. Worse than this was the fact that it was cold outside. Briefly, Trip thought of going back and relieving one of the guards of his uniform. But the men were at least a head smaller than he was and none of their clothing would fit T'Pol.

Trip left his crewmates behind the building where they were out of sight. It would be no use dragging them along. Malcolm could move again if clumsily but he still wasn't able to walk and T'Pol seemed ready to pass out. Trip had to find a place where they could all lie down and rest. He was awfully tired himself; the lack of sleep, the fights and the strain of being in command were beginning to get to him. But he couldn't allow his concentration to waver. They couldn't afford to be captured again. Each look at T'Pol and the blood-soaked bandages around her chest told him what was awaiting them if the alien people managed to recapture them.

He snuck forward into the dark, throwing a suspicious look at the illuminated place every now and then. Trip wondered what they were doing and was glad that none of the people were paying any attention to their surroundings. They seemed to be in a hurry whatever it was they were doing. Trip was blinded by the lights but he could identify ladders leaning against the building and people running around on the flat roof. At least this was an explanation why there had been so few people inside.

Shrugging, he went as far away from the illuminated building as he could where he discovered a small shed at the periphery of the area that wasn't locked. Apparently it was used as a storage room and from the way it looked Trip could tell that nobody had been here for ages. Peering into the darkness, he nodded to himself approvingly. His mouth twitched when he saw a few spiders running across the floor. _Bugs seem to be universal,_ he thought and it didn't help that these spiders were big and hairy.

"C'mon, go play outside," he muttered and pushed the biggest one out of the way. Behind some boxes he found a bunch of discarded clothes. They smelled, and Trip wrinkled his nose. They were better than nothing, though. He prepared some sort of bed for T'Pol, grabbed a blanket to cover her and hurried back to get his crewmates.

----------------------------

Trip felt Jon's eyes resting on him. He wished desperately that he could talk to the Captain. It was a weird feeling that the Captain was here but couldn't talk to them, couldn't offer a solution or tell them what to do. At least Malcolm was feeling better. He was sitting next to the wall, flexing his fingers and massaging his limbs. Wrapped into the blanket, T'Pol was lying on the clothes with her eyes closed, apparently having a hard time controlling the pain. Trip had changed the bandages with the supplies he had taken from the laboratory and had noticed that the wound was beginning to look infected. Although he wasn't planning to tell his friends, he knew that time was essential. T'Pol had to see a doctor. But not one from this place.

"So what are we going to do now?" Malcolm asked. "We can't stay here for long."

"We're gonna find a way to escape from this place."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Malcolm tried to stand up, but his legs gave way and he slumped back to the floor. He snorted in frustration.

"They've got to have vehicles here. For instance the truck they brought us here with."

"And you know how to drive it?"

Trip just glanced at Malcolm.

"Okay, let's assume we succeed in stealing a vehicle and you can actually drive it," Malcolm continued. "And then? You don't have any idea where to go."

Trip pinched the bridge of his nose. "Away from here, that's for sure. Maybe we can find help outside this area."

Malcolm bit his lip. "This race seems to be highly xenophobic. I doubt that anyone would be willing to help us. And don't forget that we can't talk to them. It would be difficult to explain our situation even with our UT's, and without them I don't see any chances of doing so."

"T'Pol needs a doctor. And soon. We need to find our shuttlepod."

"How the bloody hell are we going to find it? It could be anywhere on this lovely planet. I don't know exactly how long we were on that plane, but I'm sure we covered an enormous distance and none of us knows in which direction."

"C'mon Malcolm, you're not helpin'."

"I know. Sorry, Trip." Malcolm looked at the floor, sighing. Trip knew his friend was in a bad mood because he couldn't do anything to help at the moment. And to be fair, Malcolm was absolutely right. Trip had no idea where to go, even if he found a vehicle. This strange little conglomeration of buildings seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Trip was sure that the scientists were working on a few classified projects and the planet's population was not meant to know about them. As a consequence the next village would be miles and miles away and there was no indication at all in which direction it was. No matter how he looked at it, an escape seemed only possible with their shuttlepod, but there was absolutely no chance of finding it.

Trip looked around. His eyes locked with Jon's, but he couldn't read the Captain's thoughts. "Let's deal with everything else when we have a vehicle. First I'll try to find out what they're doin' out there. I have a feelin' that it has somethin' to do with us."

"Wait for me, Trip. I'm coming with you."

"You'd better stay here, Malcolm. You can barely stand."

"It's getting better by the minute. Just wait a bit."

"We don't have time to wait, Malcolm. Besides, you've gotta protect the Captain, T'Pol and Porthos. If you're detected, none of them are gonna be able to defend themselves."

Eventually Malcolm nodded and decided to listen to reason. "Take care of yourself, Trip."

-------------------------

Taking cover behind the buildings, Trip approached the factory hall. Now he was able to see what all the commotion was about. The workers were removing the tiles from the roof. Trip frowned. He still had the distinct feeling that this had something to do with them, but he couldn't tell why it would be necessary to remove roof tiles. Shrugging, he retreated and gave the place a wide berth. There was no time to watch. He had to find a vehicle. Some food and water wouldn't be bad either. It had been hours since they'd last had something to eat and drink and Trip felt his stomach rumble.

It was too dangerous to enter the scientific buildings. Trip assumed that the scientists were sleeping, gathering their strength for the task to come: dissecting or even vivisecting the aliens that had been found in the wilderness. It wouldn't come to that, Trip vowed to himself. He would find a way to get them home.

He spotted a small building that could've been a garage. Carefully, Trip opened the door, wincing when it screeched loudly. He froze and looked around, ready to run, but no one was paying him any attention. Exhaling, Trip peered into the room. It was empty.

The engineer cursed under his breath. Where did they store that damn truck? Trip startled when he heard voices and steps approaching. The workers had finished their task and although some of them had stayed back at the building, obviously waiting for something to happen, most of them were strolling in Trip's direction. Quickly, Trip slipped inside the garage, pressing himself against a wall. The pounding of his heart drowned out the steps of the men passing by. None of them seemed inclined to look into the garage. Gathering his courage, Trip peeked outside to see where they were heading. The men didn't pay any notice to their surroundings. Judging by their body language, Trip assumed that they had been woken from their sleep to work on the roof. Perhaps they didn't even know what had happened. Trip knew that he wouldn't just go to bed if he had never seen an alien before and some had been caught in the neighborhood.

Trip waited until the last of the workers had disappeared in the building next to him. Of course it was a good thing that fewer people were around; now that they had finished their task, however, it was likely that someone in charge would want to check on the prisoners.

While he was fervently racking his mind for a way to escape, Trip suddenly heard noise in the distance. Curious, he left the garage and scanned the surroundings for its origin. The noise grew louder and he could make out a light in the sky that seemed to come nearer. Trip sneaked back to the factory hall. Once he was out of sight, he crouched down behind a wall, careful so that no light could reach him. He looked up at the sky and eventually he could see a big object approaching. It was a strange cross between a plane and a helicopter. Massive cables were attached to its underside, carrying the object that was meant to be lowered down into the factory hall. Trip watched in awe as the remaining workers sprang into action and directed the transport vehicle into the right position. The object was placed in the hall, the cables were detached and the vehicle left. No one noticed that for a split second the vehicle's searchlight wandered over a crouched figure in the shade of the wall and the broadening smile on his face.

* * *

TBC

Again, please let me know what you think about it.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for your nice reviews. It seemed that you all had a certain feeling about the thing that was brought into the building. Let's see if you were right.

**8**

"It's me," Trip announced when he slid into the storage room. He didn't want Malcolm to shoot him, did he?

Malcolm lowered the gun and smiled. "Did you find the truck, Trip?"

"Even better."

"The truck and a chauffeur?"

"Very funny, Malcolm, really." Trip crouched down beside T'Pol. "How is she?"

T'Pol opened her eyes. "I am able to control the pain, Commander, but I have developed a fever."

Her voice sounded weary and strained and had Trip worried. But at least she was telling him the truth and not that she was fine. Comfortingly, he patted her arm. "We'll have you out of here in no time, T'Pol. They just brought our shuttlepod in."

"What?" Malcolm jumped to his feet and the strangled yelp that came from Jon made Trip smile. "Something like a big helicopter carried it in. They untiled the roof of the factory hall to put it in there."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm muttered. "That solves all of our problems."

"Except for one. I don't have a clue how we can get to it. They sent the workers to bed, but I'm sure they didn't leave the pod unguarded."

"But we have weapons now." Malcolm nodded at the three guns and two paralyzing rifles.

Trip nodded. "Would be better not to use the guns, though. They make too much noise. Have you checked the ammunition in the rifles?"

Of course Malcolm had. "There're three projectiles in each weapon. I have no idea what they're made of."

"Doesn't matter. As long as they do their job."

"So, what are we going to do? Barge in there, paralyze everyone who stands in our way and get away in about ten minutes?"

Trip grimaced. "I wish it was that easy. But generally, that's the plan, yes. We can't stay here. They'll find us in no time when they start searchin' for us."

Malcolm bit his lip. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too," Trip agreed. "I just don't understand why they haven't detected your escape by now. You should think they wouldn't leave us unguarded at any time. Go figure! They catch aliens on a planet that seems to have never encountered offworlders before; they take one of them away to be examined and leave the others behind bars and never check on them? What if we had the ability to go through walls?"

Malcolm smiled.

"You know what I mean. They can't know what we're capable of. But it looks like they haven't even detected the empty cell or the scientists in the laboratory yet."

Malcolm nodded, pondering. "I guess the encounter with us was a bit too much for them. I don't know what they usually do here; perhaps designing new weapons or something like that. I guess they were just ordered to take care of us and no one really knew what to do. They're scared."

"But leaving prisoners unguarded is just stupid, no matter how inexperienced someone might be."

Malcolm's eyebrows twitched, a gesture he had brought to perfection since he had switched bodies with T'Pol. "You're telling me about safety protocols, Trip? Of course you're absolutely right. But it's to our advantage that they don't know how to deal with us. We might even be lucky enough to get away."

"Then let's not waste any more time. Can you help Porthos?" Trip hung one rifle over his shoulder and stuffed one of the guns in his pocket. He crouched down beside T'Pol and studied her features sympathetically. Her eyes were closed, her face had a ghostly pallor and she was sweating. So this was what he looked like when he was ill. No wonder he could never convince Phlox that he was fine when he was sick or injured.

The bandage he had applied just an hour ago was soaked with blood again, but Trip didn't have any more dressing material left to take care of it. It would have to wait until they were back in the shuttlepod. Gently, he shook T'Pol's shoulder. "T'Pol? We have to go."

Bleary blue eyes looked at him with a confused expression, and Trip sighed inwardly. Suddenly, it was hard to imagine that it was T'Pol in that battered body. Trip winced. His own battered body. The mere thought made him cringe. He helped T'Pol to get up, wrapped the blanket tightly around her and carefully slid his arm around her waist to support her.

Malcolm, who had taken the second rifle and the other two guns, peered outside. "The coast is clear." He took Porthos' arm and guided him outside, with Archer following them. Daybreak wasn't far away, and the silhouettes of the buildings were bathed in a diffuse light. "Careful," Malcolm cautioned with a disapproving glance at the sky.

As quietly as possible, they made their way along the buildings. Trip concentrated on helping T'Pol who would have collapsed instantly without his support. He trusted Malcolm to detect any danger. And he did.

"Take cover," the security officer whispered in a low but firm voice. Trip didn't hesitate but dragged T'Pol behind the next building. Lowering her to the ground, he glanced around the corner.

"There're vehicles coming," Malcolm told him as he crouched down beside Trip, dragging Porthos with him.

Trip looked at him, frowning. He couldn't hear a thing. But Jon had pricked his ears and Trip trusted the Vulcan hearing Malcolm had at his disposal. After a while Trip too could hear the sound of approaching vehicles.

Trip squinted when he noticed people coming out of the main building. He didn't recognize any of them. Could it be possible that the injured scientists and the manacled guards had still not been found? It would be too much luck.

The newcomers were military men, that was for sure. One of them seemed to be the equivalent of a general, but the man beside him looked more like a civilian. The guards stood ramrod straight and the few scientists were obviously not feeling very comfortable.

"What d'you think, Malcolm?" Trip whispered. "Is that one their minister of defense?"

"Should be," Malcolm murmured. "It took him long enough to show up."

"You know what that means for us."

"Yes. Time is running short. He came here to see us and we're no longer where we're supposed to be."

Trip's smile vanished when another scientist came running to the two men. He was panting, greeted the visitor carelessly and started to talk with what looked like great agitation.

"Uh oh." Trip bit his lip.

"They noticed."

All of the aliens, scientists, guards and the newcomers alike rushed into the building.

Trip and Malcolm looked at each other. "How long d'you think until they begin to search the whole area?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I guess they'll search the building first. But after that they'll turn all the buildings upside down to find us. We have to recover our shuttlepod at once."

T'Pol tried to sit up and accepted Malcolm's helping hand in doing so. "You have to go," she stated. "Help me to my feet and Porthos and I will find the way. You don't need to stay with us, we would only slow you down."

Trip nodded. It was the right plan. "You know the way?"

T'Pol's eyebrows shot up. "I will be able to find a building without a roof, Commander."

Malcolm gave her one of the guns. "We'll take the rifles with us. It would be better not to use the guns because the shots would be heard, but if you don't have a choice, shoot."

"I will."

"C'mon, Malcolm," Trip pushed. "You comin' with us, Jon?"

-------------------------

The big door that led into the huge factory hall stood ajar. It was so easy to sneak in. Carefully, Malcolm peeked inside and waved Trip to follow him. Two guards stood with their backs to them, gaping at the shuttlepod. They were running their fingers over the hull in awe and talking to each other in hushed tones.

Trip smirked at Malcolm as they both leveled their rifles. The double plop was barely audible and the guards fell to the ground, unaware of what had happened.

"I'm telling you, Trip…" Malcolm began as they dragged the guards out of the way and left them next to the wall.

"I know, Malcolm. If these two were your men they would be scrubbing plasma conduits for the rest of our mission."

"And serving as targets for the next training session," Malcolm muttered.

Trip smiled at him. "I'm just glad that these guys are as careless as they are. Let's go inside." He looked at the pod and shook his head. "They didn't even close the hatch during the transport. I hope it's not damaged."

"Remind me to think about an emergency system that closes the hatch automatically when it's left open for more than half an hour."

"That's definitely something to think about," Trip agreed. He went over to the open panels that still spoke of the work he had had to abandon so quickly.

Malcolm cursed under his breath.

"What is it?" Trip asked, his eyes still on the conduits and his handiwork.

"They spilled our water. There's nothing left."

Trip licked his lips. "Damn. Let's hope we'll be back on Enterprise within an hour." With growing curiosity Trip watched Malcolm who had started to rummage through the lockers. "What are you looking for?"

Malcolm looked at him with frustration and anger written all over his face. "They've taken the UTs, the communicators and our weapons."

Trip turned around. "Shit. That's not good. But it was to be expected." He eyed Malcolm suspiciously. "You're not planning to retrieve them, Malcolm, are ya?"

"We can't let them have our devices, Trip, you know that. Particularly not the weapons."

"Malcolm, it'd be suicide to go in there right now. They know we're on the run. They're searchin' the building for us right now and I bet that in a few minutes all guards and every scientist will show up."

"I know. But still, we can't let them have them. What do you think, Captain?"

Trip knew Archer would agree with Malcolm. The dog nodded. Malcolm took the rifle that he had leaned against the science station before. "How long do you need to get the pod running, Trip?"

"Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes."

"Okay, if it gets dangerous and we're not back in time, start without us."

"Yeah, 'course."

"I mean it, Trip." Malcolm looked outside. "T'Pol and Porthos are coming. It's still quiet outside."

"Not for long, I guess." Trip watched Malcolm and Jon leave, then helped Porthos and T'Pol inside. Sweat stood on the Captain's forehead and Trip suppressed a smile when Porthos stuck his tongue out and started panting. "Good boy," he said and led him to the rear bench. "You did fine. Now sit down and rest. I'm sorry I can't give you any water."

Trip turned around and found T'Pol still standing behind him.

"Sit down, T'Pol. I'll clean your wound and give you something for the pain."

"I'd prefer not to have any medication, Commander," T'Pol said in a weary but firm voice. "I have to stay conscious."

"It's not as if you can do much in this condition." Trip fetched the med kit, saying a silent thank you when he found the supplies in their customary place.

"But I'm the only one who can initiate the return into our own bodies."

Trip grimaced. "You've got a point there." He rummaged through the med kit, taking out bandages and a hypospray.

"I told you, Commander…"

"And I heard you, T'Pol. I'll just give you something to take the edge off the pain."

"Agreed."

"There you go." Trip pressed the hypo against T'Pol's neck and she visibly relaxed. "That's better, isn't it?"

"I cannot deny that, Commander."

In a hurry, Trip changed the bandages around her chest. "I can't do more at the moment, T'Pol. I still have to work on those conduits."

"Can I be of assistance, Commander?"

"No, you lie down and rest for a while. I'll be fine."

Trip started working. He felt adrenalin rushing through his veins, sweeping away the tired feeling. He would sleep for ages when he was back on Enterprise, and hopefully back in his own body. But right now he was highly alert. He was working against time and odds. What were the chances that Malcolm would be able to retrieve their devices unnoticed? _Think positive,_ _Tucker,_ he thought, _if someone can manage, it's Malcolm_. Suddenly he heard noises outside. Trip slipped out of the shuttlepod and opened the door of the factory hall just wide enough to peek through the gap. The general was standing in the middle of the yard, barking commands to a bunch of guards and workers who looked sleepy rather than awake and aware of the situation. They started walking in different directions and it was very clear what they had been ordered to do.

"Damn," Trip cursed. "Where are you, Malcolm? Come on."

Briefly, he checked on the still paralyzed guards. They remained motionless when he felt for a pulse, but they both held their breath at his touch.

"I'm sorry guys," Trip said. "Don't want to scare you but it's your own fault. Y'know, we could have been friends if you had given us the chance to talk to you." He shrugged and returned to the shuttlepod. T'Pol looked at him, eyes still filled with pain, but she seemed to be feeling slightly better.

"What is going on, Commander?"

"They've started searchin' for us," Trip explained. "We don't have much time."

"Could we take off right now?"

"Yeah, the engines should be fine. But I want to wait until Malcolm and the Cap'n are back."

"I agree." T'Pol looked past him and suddenly her eyes grew wide. "Watch out," she warned him.

But it was too late. The very same moment Trip started to whirl around, he could feel the muzzle of a gun being painfully pressed into his back and heard a rough voice shouting at him.

* * *

TBC

So you were right about the shuttlepod. And how is Trip going to get out of this one? Any ideas? So please push the button and tell me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks a lot for your reviews and your thoughts. I'm glad that I wasn't this obvious this time. Let's see who eventually will come to the rescue.**

**9**

The man's meaning was clear. Trip raised his arms and hoped that this gesture was as universal as the spiders. He racked his brain for a solution. Now would be a great time for Malcolm to show up, but he didn't. Trip glanced at the rifle, but the pressure in his back intensified at the movement.

Trip's arm was grabbed in a vice grip and he was slowly turned around to face the man with the deadly gun. It was one of the guards, still young, but he looked very determined. Trip recognized him as one of the men who had captured them back at the clearing. The man glanced at Porthos and T'Pol and from his derisive smile Trip gathered that he didn't see them as a threat. The guard obviously remembered Porthos and that he was quite imbecile for a grown man. And T'Pol couldn't help either. From the corner of his eye Trip could see that she had lost consciousness. Her right arm hung limply from the bench and her eyes were closed. With his free hand the guard shook her shoulder and even pressed on her bandaged chest. A small moan escaped T'Pol's closed lips, but she didn't move.

"Bastard," Trip shouted angrily, but fell silent again when the gun was pointed directly between his eyes.

The guard signaled him to leave the shuttlepod. As he stumbled alongside the man, Trip threw a surreptitious glance around to find something to defend himself. There was still some debris from the crash lying around, but Trip knew he would never have the time to grab something, turn around and hit the guard. The gun's muzzle that was again pressed into his back told him not to take any rash actions.

Suddenly, the pressure relented. The gun was pulled away and Trip heard a thump behind him. Instinctively, he whirled around and found himself face to face with T'Pol. The guard had slumped down on the floor. Trip's jaw slacked when he realized that T'Pol hadn't been unconscious at all and had knocked the guard out with a Vulcan nerve pinch.

"I never thought playacting was a Vulcan talent."

"I learned that some human traits can be very useful if utilized the right way," T'Pol answered in earnest.

Trip chuckled. "I'm sure they are." He took some cable straps out of his toolkit and tied the guard's hands and feet. Then he dragged the unconscious man out of the shuttlepod and over to the other two guards.

It was then that he heard voices and loud barking. He didn't need to look outside to know what had happened. Malcolm and Jon had been caught. Trip's thoughts were confirmed when he peeked outside the door. Malcolm stood there with his hands up and a gun pointed at him while another man was holding Jon by the collar, nearly strangling him. The general was shouting at Malcolm and when he didn't get the right answer, slapped him in the face.

Trip rushed back to the shuttlepod. Just before climbing inside, he stopped in his tracks, turned and ran back to the guards. One after the other, he grabbed them under the armpits and dragged them to the corner that was the furthest away from the shuttlepod's rear end.

That done, Trip jumped into the pod and closed the hatch. "They have Malcolm and the Cap'n," he explained to T'Pol.

"Do you have any suggestions, Commander?"

"We'll do precisely what Malcolm said." Trip took a seat at the helm. "Sit down, T'Pol and grab a hold of something. We're takin' off."

"Inside the building?"

"I don't have the time to manoeuvre the pod carefully through the open roof. And to be honest I can't be bothered to try. Sit down, would you?"

Trip started the engines and let the thrusters roar out loud. He smirked imagining the faces of the men outside. Perhaps Malcolm and Jon would get the chance to escape. If not, well, he still had an ace up his sleeve.

When the shuttle was hovering about two meters over the ground Trip accelerated and crashed it straight through the wall. Bricks and stones flew everywhere as the small aircraft broke through the massive obstacle. "Sorry Jon," he muttered. "I guess I scratched the paint again."

Once he had gotten clear, Trip pulled the shuttle's nose up and took it into a sharp turn. Passing across the scene, he got a good look at the area. The factory hall was burning and people were trying to put out the fire. Trip was relieved to see that the three men from inside were being rescued. As angry as he was with these people, he didn't want any of them killed.

Malcolm and Jon were still being held prisoner, though. At least five guns were pointed at them right now and the general just stood there, watching the scene with apparently only little interest. He looked up at the shuttlepod, then took a gun from the man standing next to him and pressed it against Malcolm's temple. With his other hand he pointed to the pod, then to the ground and finally at the gun in his hand.

Trip's eyes narrowed to angry slits. "D'you really think I'll let you shoot my friends?" he murmured. He let the pod drop by a few meters.

The general visibly relaxed. He said something to the minister behind him and they both started laughing. But their laughter fell silent when a phaser beam from the shuttle hit the ground only a few meters in front of them. At the same moment, Malcolm let himself fall to the ground. Before the general whose shocked eyes were still on the charred spot the shot had left on the ground could adjust to the new situation, he rolled over his shoulder, came up to his feet and was suddenly standing behind the general, who didn't even get the chance to turn around before Malcolm knocked him out cold. By the time Trip's repeated shots from the shuttlepod's cannons were not the only fire on the scene, Malcolm had drawn two Starfleet phase pistols and started to stun the people around him, including the minister.

The men started screaming and ran for cover, not caring that the prisoners were about to escape. Trip carefully avoided hitting people but found it very satisfying to make the empty storage room explode. "Sorry about the spiders", he smirked. Turning the shuttle's front around, Trip fired a few more shots in the direction of the main building. "Now, General, tell me again who you're gonna shoot."

But the guards had recovered from their surprise and started shooting from behind the buildings where they had sought cover. Trip turned the pod around to bring it between the guards and his friends to protect them. He could hear projectiles hit the shuttle's outer plating and prayed that they weren't strong enough to penetrate the hull. The shuttlepod was designed to withstand even small meteorites, but it wasn't in the best of shapes now. And if the guards managed to hit a major conduit, their escape would be over as quickly as it had begun. Frowning, he noticed some men running to a better position to get a good aim at Malcolm. His friend had only seconds left before fire would be opened at him again.

Trip lowered the pod and let it hover just a meter above the ground. Setting it down would cost too much time. T'Pol opened the hatch. Running towards the shuttlepod, Malcolm stuffed away the weapons and grabbed the dog. Unceremoniously, he threw Archer into the pod, reached for the threshold and just when a few men started to fire their weapons at him he swung himself inside with a perfect roll that brought him back to his feet in an instant. Together with T'Pol he closed the hatch. The engines roared loudly when Trip fired the thrusters and the shuttlepod rose straight into the sky.

"Phew! That was close!" Trip turned around to look at his friends and frowned. "Malcolm. You're injured."

Malcolm looked down at his bleeding leg. "They hit me when I got inside the pod. It's just a scratch. I'm fine, don't worry."

Trip nodded when he looked into Malcolm's face and couldn't find a sign of pain there. "So you have our equipment?"

"Yes," Malcolm confirmed. "All of them. The Captain led me straight to the right laboratory. I don't know how he did it, perhaps he could smell our technology." Malcolm grinned, but when he looked at the Captain, the expression in his face changed from pride to embarrassment. "I'm sorry Captain, for throwing you into the shuttlepod like this. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

Jon just waved his paw and Trip knew exactly what Archer would say. "It was the right thing to do, Malcolm, and I'm sure the Cap'n didn't mind. Would you come over here please? I could use some help locatin' the anomaly."

"Of course, Commander."

Malcolm sat down beside Trip, and T'Pol took her place at the science station. Jon hopped onto the bench beside Porthos, who was looking at them with big eyes.

"Can you see it?" Trip enquired.

"It's not where it was before," Malcolm said, looking at the instruments. "Perhaps it has migrated."

"Or vanished," T'Pol added.

Trip closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling an icy shudder running down his spine. He had never doubted that they would be able to change back into their own bodies. Actually, he had never allowed himself to think otherwise. But what would they do if the anomaly didn't exist anymore? There would be no way to get his own body back. He locked eyes with Malcolm, knowing that his friend was thinking exactly the same thing.

"I have detected it." Was there a hint of excitement in T'Pol's voice? Trip wasn't so sure about it. It could have been pain as well. "I will give you the coordinates, Commander."

Relieved, Trip turned the shuttlepod around. Malcolm looked at him. "Do you think it will work?"

Trip glanced back at his friend. Suddenly he wasn't so sure about that either.

"Lieutenant Reed," he heard T'Pol from behind. "We have to change seats. We switched our bodies clockwise before. It is logical to assume this would be the case again right now."

Malcolm got up. "What about the Captain and Porthos?"

"They are fine on the rear bench. It's exactly the place where they were before. They should be switched back accordingly." T'Pol sat down beside Trip. "Remember to program the autopilot, Commander. It would be unfortunate if we crashed again."

"You're absolutely right," Trip smiled and set the autopilot to pull them out of the anomaly during the short time he would be unconscious. "You up to piloting, Malcolm?" he asked over his shoulder. "If things turn out okay you'll be sitting at the helm in a few minutes."

"Don't worry, Commander, I'll manage," Malcolm answered dryly. "I'd advise fastening the seatbelts," he added. "Just in case we do crash again."

Trip clicked his seatbelt in place. "Okay, we're entering the anomaly…. now."

Trip steeled himself for the impact that would initiate the switching back into their own bodies, but it didn't come.

"We've passed the anomaly," Malcolm announced from the science station.

Incredulously, Trip looked from him to T'Pol. "Did any of you switch back?"

"Negative," T'Pol answered, while Malcolm only shook his head.

Trip felt a surge of panic wash over him. It hadn't worked. He was still trapped in Malcolm's body.

T'Pol turned around. "I will examine the anomaly. It is logical to assume that its chemical constitution has changed." She tried to get up, but swayed and sank back down onto the seat.

"We're not in a hurry anymore, T'Pol." Trip heard how disappointed he sounded and hated himself for his lack of confidence. "Just rest a while." Sighing, he fired the thrusters to turn the shuttle around so they would not get too far away from the anomaly.

Suddenly, he flinched.

"What is it, Trip?" Malcolm asked.

Trip frowned, thinking. "When we entered the anomaly yesterday, I fired the thrusters to get out of it and back on our original course."

T'Pol tilted her head. "The discharge from the thrusters additional to the impulse-drive could have made the difference."

"Let's try again." Trip turned the shuttle around and reprogrammed the auto-pilot, his hope returning. "There we are." He waited until they were surrounded by the anomaly and fired the thrusters. Never before had he welcomed sizzling sounds in the helm and exploding relays, but now he did. The last thing he registered was a weird smell of ozone and vomit, then a bright flash plunged his world into darkness.

----------------------------------

Pain woke him. There was pain everywhere. It was so intense that he could barely stand it. His chest was on fire and he had to fight for every breath. _Please, anyone, make the pain go away. _What had happened? Were the aliens torturing him?

With an effort, Trip opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of wide open space. At that, the memories of what had happened returned. "Did we do it?" he managed.

He got no answer. Trip looked down and saw the bandages around his chest. He was definitely back in his own body and it felt awful. Slowly, he turned his head. Malcolm lay slumped in the pilot's chair, still unconscious. But the shuttlepod was speeding into space, away from the anomaly. Trip sighed and tried to move his arms, but the pain the movement caused was too intensive.

He heard T'Pol stir behind him and glanced at her.

"I am in my own body again," she stated.

Trip tried to smile. "Seems like it worked."

"It did", a deep voice came from behind, a voice Trip hadn't heard for a long time.

"Hi Jon, nice to hear you again." Trip noticed the pain and weakness in his voice, but he smiled despite his physical discomfort. They had done it. Everything was going to be okay.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, looked up and straight into Archer's worried eyes. He smiled. "It's good to be looking up at you again, Cap'n."

"You can't feel so bad if you're still able to joke," Archer said gently. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," Trip answered honestly. "I don't understand how T'Pol could endure this pain the whole time."

"I am a Vulcan," T'Pol explained. "No matter what body I am inhabiting, it does not affect my mental abilities. I was hoping your body could adopt some of my self-control."

When Archer burst out laughing, Malcolm stirred. "What happened?" he asked. "Did we make it?"

"Look at yourself, Lieutenant, and you'll know."

Malcolm looked around. "Am I the last one to wake up?"

"I'm afraid so, Malcolm." Archer looked at him with mock seriousness. "That's not acceptable for a security officer."

Malcolm tried to jump to his feet, but got tangled in the seatbelt. "I apologize, Captain, I was…"

"Relax, Malcolm," Archer admonished, smiling. "I was just kidding. You're only human, and luckily I am again, as well. Would you help me get Trip to the bench?"

"Of course." Malcolm hurried to free himself from the seatbelt. "How are you feeling, Trip?"

"I'm fine." Trip tried to relax when Jon and Malcolm gently helped him up and guided him to the bench. He heard T'Pol contact Enterprise and was relieved when Hoshi's voice answered. But all he wanted to do now was go to sleep and forget about the pain.

Archer took a hypospray out of the medkit and emptied its content into Trip's bloodstream. "Just a few minutes and you'll be fast asleep." He patted Trip's shoulder. "You did a good job, Trip. You're going to be a fine Captain one day."

"Thanks Jon. Can't say it was easy."

"We'll talk later. Try to get some rest now."

"What are you goin' to do when we're back on the ship, Cap'n? Are you going to tell the crew what happened to us?"

Archer just smiled. "First thing I'll do is look for another pair of pants. And then I'll have to look after Porthos."

"Poor guy must be scared to death." Trip slurred. He relished the feeling of the pain fading away and finally gave in to the darkness that was approaching him.

-------------------------------

The next time he regained consciousness, Trip knew exactly where he was. He could tell by the smells and the noises around him. Sickbay. It wasn't such a bad place after all. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found Archer and Malcolm sitting beside him.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"About an hour," Archer answered. "We've only been here for about ten minutes."

"Everyone okay?"

"Except for you, everyone's fine. T'Pol has an injured leg from the bullet that grazed Malcolm when we ran for the shuttlepod. Malcolm's wrists are still sore from the knife wounds and we all are a bit bruised, but Phlox can fix that in no time. We're fine."

"It's strange, isn't it?" Malcolm pondered. "That we now have injuries we never got in the first place."

"This whole mission was strange," Trip said. "Even stranger than getting pregnant from stickin' my hands into a box of pebbles. They should have told us about these things when we signed up for a deep space mission."

Archer smiled. "I'll tell Starfleet to add a warning to the job description."

"Are you going to tell them all about this mission?"

"I have to. At least Admiral Forrest and Phlox have to know. But I don't intend to tell everyone on the ship that I was in Porthos' body. As for now, we told Phlox that we crashed because of the anomaly and that you were tortured by aliens."

"That's fine with me." Trip nodded and looked up when Phlox arrived with a device in his hand. Trip eyed it suspiciously. "What is that, Phlox?"

"I'm sure you've seen this before, Commander." Phlox smiled his cheerful smile. "It's a razor, of course. I have to do surgery on your injury, and in order to do so I have to remove the hair from your chest."

Bemused, Phlox looked from Trip's horrorstruck expression to Archer and Malcolm, who both burst out laughing. "Did I say something wrong?"

* * *

TBC

So they are back on the ship sound and safe. And in their own bodies. I hope you liked the story. And if so please tell me about it. I love your reviews and they are highly appreciated. You'll get the last chapter on Friday.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing my story. Here is the final chapter.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

Trip smiled when the door bell chimed. "Come in, Malcolm."

The door slid aside and revealed an astonished looking Security Chief. "How did you know it was me?"

Trip shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on his bunk. "The Cap'n was here already, Phlox made his house call, Hess and Rostov came to keep me updated on the latest events on board and even T'Pol asked how I was feeling. So it wasn't that hard to tell it was you standin' outside the door."

Malcolm took a chair and placed it beside Trip's bunk, taking a seat. "I was looking for you in sickbay. It surprised me that Phlox had already released you."

"I convinced him that I'm feelin' quite well."

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up. "How did you do that?"

Trip chuckled. "Looking at myself for a while taught me a lot about my body language and my facial expressions."

"So you fooled Phlox?"

"Nah. Not really. I'm fine, Malcolm. Phlox pretty much patched me up. He said I was lucky they didn't cut into any organs."

"That would have been the next step, I suppose," Malcolm muttered, shuddering.

"Yeah. I guess we found T'Pol just in time."

"You did." Malcolm shifted uncomfortably, started rubbing his hands and obviously found a spot on the floor very interesting.

"I spilled some coffee."

Malcolm looked up, startled. "What?"

"You seem to be wondering if that stain down there could become a security risk."

Malcolm smirked. "I'm not as paranoid as that, Trip." He shrugged. "Not yet."

"So what is it?"

Malcolm sighed, biting his lip. Trip held his gaze, waiting patiently. Eventually, Malcolm grimaced and took a deep breath. "Look Trip, I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"I was stupid, careless and irresponsible."

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Malcolm?"

"I endangered our escape when I attacked the men who took T'Pol. I couldn't come with you to help you get her out of this lab and you had to come back for me."

"We had to come back anyway, Malcolm. For Porthos, remember? I admit, it would have been easier with your help but it worked out okay." Trip grinned good-naturedly. "Believe it or not but we managed to destroy the lab even without you. And what a mess we created."

"That's not the point, Trip."

Trip sobered up. "Look, Malcolm. If T'Pol had been in her own body, Vulcan logic might have told her not to do anythin' and just watch how one of her comrades was dragged away. But we aren't Vulcans. We act on instinct and emotion rather than logic. And the Vulcan body didn't change that for you. As our security chief it was perfectly logical that you wouldn't let them have T'Pol. Don't beat yourself up for doin' your job and for tryin' to help her. I would have done the same and so would've the Cap'n. Besides, I thought you were very brave."

"Brave?" Malcolm threw Trip an incredulous look.

"Yeah, they had those weapons. And you knew they would use them on you. I don't think you're very fond of being completely paralyzed for hours, but you tried to help her all the same."

Malcolm chewed on his bottom lip. Then he smiled. "Have you ever considered working as a counselor, Trip?"

Trip smiled. "I wouldn't be very successful, believe me. Although we could all use a counselor right now. Finding yourself in your friend's body is kind of scary."

"Tell me about it. At least you still had a male body. And a human one. And one of the finest ones available, as I might add."

Trip laughed, but stopped abruptly, pressing his hand on his chest. He grimaced. "Don't make me laugh, Malcolm. It hurts."

"Do you want me to call Phlox?" Malcolm offered.

"No, I'm okay. I still don't understand how T'Pol could endure the pain all the time. And still help us. When I woke up after we switched back I thought someone had ripped me apart. I'm ashamed to admit it, but if it had really been me in my body I would have passed out from the pain more than once. I would've been a burden to you and no help like T'Pol. "

"Yes, she's tough. Perhaps these Vulcan methods of suppressing emotions and pain are not so useless after all. "

"Did you feel a change in your emotions when you were in her body?"

"No, then I wouldn't have acted so stupid." Malcolm allowed himself a thin smile. "I think it's a strictly mental thing that has nothing to do with Vulcan physiology."

"So you think we could be able to learn it as well?"

"Not you."

Trip lifted his eyebrows. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're okay the way you are. And by the way, T'Pol could lift your eyebrows up to your hairline. Why can't you do that?"

"Because I'm not T'Pol. It was frightenin' what she could do with my body. But now that it's mine again those things are gone."

"That's interesting. So your body is able to do those Vulcan gimmicks but now that you're back in your own brain it refuses to do so? Perhaps Phlox would have an explanation. By the way, did the Captain tell him about our adventure by now?"

"Yes, he informed him when he asked him to look after Porthos' shoulder. It seems like the Cap'n overstretched a few ligaments down there."

"I see." Malcolm nodded. "Of course Phlox asked how he knew about it."

"Yeah, the Cap'n didn't feel very comfortable telling him about his experiences in Porthos' body. But as our medical officer, Phlox has to be informed about incidents like this one."

"I can imagine Phlox was very interested to hear every little detail."

"You bet." Trip chuckled. "It was the first time I enjoyed my stay in sickbay. I wasn't able to hear everything but it was enough to feel really sorry for Jon. I guess we're all in for a good talk with Phlox. What about you? Are you going to tell him that _you were afraid it might be __that__ time of the month for T'Pol just then__?"_

Trip laughed at Malcolm's expression, not caring about the pain in his chest.

But Malcolm countered: "And what about you? T'Pol shaved your balls, Phlox shaved your chest, do you still have any hair on your body?"

"Wanna look?"

"No, thank you." Malcolm frowned "Have you talked to the Captain yet?"

"Not yet. Maybe finding yourself in the body of your own dog is an experience you never want to talk about."

"But maybe he should. Talking to a friend is different than talking to a doctor."

Trip shrugged. "I'll let him decide about that. I guess we'll talk about it the next time we share a glass of bourbon." He held his hand out to Malcolm. "Would you help me up, please?"

Carefully, Malcolm helped Trip into a sitting position. He frowned when Trip set his feet on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"I'm tired of lying around in bed. I have to stretch my legs. And besides, nature is callin'."

Awkwardly, Trip made his way to the bathroom. Worriedly, Malcolm was hovering beside him, ready to lend a helping hand should Trip stumble.

Trip grinned. "You don't wanna show me how to hold it, do ya?" he teased.

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. "Absolutely not."

Trip left the bathroom door ajar. He was still very wobbly on his feet and despite his teasing he was glad that Malcolm was waiting outside if he needed help.

"Ya know," he said loudly so that Malcolm could hear him. "This was one of the most awkward things I had to do. Telling T'Pol how to… ya know."

He heard Malcolm chuckle and smiled. The whole away mission had been an awkward experience. Combing his hair, Trip studied his reflection in the mirror. "It's good to see yourself again when you're looking in the mirror," he stated.

"It's not that we had that many mirrors down there," Malcolm said from outside. "Looking in a mirror and seeing T'Pol would've been even scarier than hearing her voice every time I opened my mouth."

"I still don't understand how the swap happened in the first place." Trip stepped out of the bathroom. "I can't even imagine what technical gimmicks would be needed to separate a consciousness from its body and transfer it to another one."

"Leave it to T'Pol and her team to analyze the anomaly." Malcolm looked at Trip. "You should get back to bed."

Trip nodded. Nausea swept over him and he swayed. Malcolm made a quick step to his side and supported him. "You're going to bed. Now!" he ordered.

Trip bit his lip. "Ya know, it would be easier to follow your orders if you still looked like T'Pol."

"I'm not telling you as a commanding officer, but as a friend. You're as white as a sheet."

Just when Trip complied, the door bell chimed. Trip lifted his eyebrows and threw a questioning glance at Malcolm, who shrugged.

"Come in." Trip smiled when the Captain stepped into the room with Porthos following him. With a big grin Trip crouched down, but the grin faded quickly to be replaced by a grimace of pain.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Malcolm admonished.

"What are you doing out of bed anyway?" Captain Archer asked.

Trip looked up. "Any more good advice? I think I have the best two nannies on the whole ship so don't worry." He turned to Porthos. "Hey buddy, come here."

Tentatively, Porthos went to Trip and allowed him pet him. "How are you feelin', buddy? How is your shoulder? Did the Cap'n ruin your body?"

"Naw, the Cap'n didn't," Jon imitated Trip's drawl. He cleared his throat. "Phlox gave him a shot of some strange concoction he mixed especially for him. He said he'll be fine in a day or two."

"That's good to hear." Trip petted Porthos behind the ears. "The poor boy must be traumatized from the experience of suddenly being in a human's body. I mean at least we all knew what had happened to us."

Archer nodded. "Phlox told me I could count myself lucky that Porthos survived the shock of being transferred not only once but twice. Under the circumstances he did very well."

"Yeah, he's a brave guy." Trip continued to pet the dog.

"You have to go back to bed, Trip," Malcolm advised, "or you'll pass out here beside Porthos."

"You're right, and I would if I could." Trip's voice was low. "I'm afraid I can't get up on my own."

Jon and Malcolm exchanged understanding glances then went to Trip's side and, each taking one of his arms, gently pulled him to a standing position. Slowly, they guided him to his bunk and lowered him on to the bed.

"Thanks, guys." Trip was breathing heavily now. Malcolm helped him lie down while Archer prevented Porthos from jumping onto the bed.

"Better now?" Malcolm eyed Trip sympathetically.

"A lot. I was just feelin' a bit nauseated."

"Oh, I almost forgot.," Jon said. "I brought you a bite to eat from the messhall. Chef is serving Chinese today, but I thought you'd prefer a sandwich."

Trip chuckled. "Thanks, Jon. I think I still like Chinese food, but I'll skip it for a while." Trip watched Archer laying the sandwich down on the bedside table. He frowned. "How do you know about my, uh, problems with the Chinese dish on the planet? You were outside the whole time when I made first contact with Malcolm's allergies."

The corner of Archer's mouth twitched. "You know something Vulcans and dogs have in common, Trip?"

Trip looked confused but Malcolm smiled in understanding. "They both have a very sensitive hearing, Trip," he explained. "I guess Captain Archer knows everything we talked about inside the pod."

Archer nodded. "It was an interesting experience, I can tell you that. By the way, I met Lieutenant Hanford in the messhall. She asked me how you're feeling. It seems she was quite impressed by your knowledge of natural sciences." The Captain lifted his eyebrows, asking Trip a mute question.

"I knew it was good for somethin'," Trip smiled.

"Is there something going on between the two of you?" the Captain wanted to know.

"No, she's just a nice girl I invited to movie night once. She told me then we have nothin' in common we could talk about. Maybe that has changed now."

"Don't be so sure," Malcolm quipped. "She'll realize very fast that you're only an imposter."

Trip raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, imposter?"

"I mean that it was T'Pol's knowledge and not yours and don't even try to get your eyebrows up like that. You can't do it."

Archer laughed out loud. "It's a good thing as well. It would be scary seeing you adopt Vulcan habits." Still smiling, he turned to Porthos, who had stretched out on the floor in front of Trip's bunk. "Let's go, Porthos. Trip needs some rest. And I have a few pieces of cheese for you in my quarters."

Porthos instantly got up, wagging his tail.

"He's back to normal as well," Trip stated. "I don't think you've gotta worry about him, Cap'n."

Archer smiled. "Get some rest, Trip. I'll drop by tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jon."

Malcolm waited until the door closed behind the Captain, then he smirked. "So, you and Reena Hanford?"

Trip sighed in mock annoyance. "She only asked how I was doin'. She was only tryin' to be nice."

"That's good to hear. So you won't find out what she thinks about hairless men."

Trip only wished he was feeling better so he could answer Malcolm's teasing. But his brain felt numb. Maybe after hosting T'Pol's keen mind for a while, it was disappointed having its own mind back. Trip chuckled at the thought.

"What is it?" Malcolm asked.

Trip shook his head. "Just a few silly thoughts. Guess my brain has to get accustomed to my own thoughts again. By the way, talking about women, when will you invite Hoshi for movie night?" Seeing Malcolm's face reddening, Trip continued. "You could tell her about your experiences. Y'know that you can understand the feelings of a woman a lot better after this mission. I guess Hoshi would appreciate a sensitive man."

Abruptly, Malcolm got up, obviously not sure whether to smile or to run. "I think you should get some rest, Commander," he said, not responding to the teasing. "Like the Captain said, you need it."

Trip watched Malcolm walking over to the door, and reach for the button to open it.

"Thank you, Malcolm."

Malcolm turned around. "What for?"

"For lending me your body. It was a good place to live."

Malcolm smiled. "You're welcome, Trip. Rest well."

Trip folded his arms behind his head and watched Malcolm leave, smiling as well.

**The End**

* * *

**One last review please?**


End file.
